THE  TRAP 


Books  by 
MAXIMILIAN  FOSTER 

The  Trap 

The  Whistling  Man 

Keeping  Up  Appearances 

Rich  Man,  Poor  Man 

Shoestrings 

These  Are  Appleton  Books 

D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 


THE  TRAP 


BY 

MAXIMILIAN  FOSTER 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  WHISTLING  MAN,"  "KEEPING 
UP  APPEARANCES,"  "RICH  MAN,  POOR 

MAN,"  ETC. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1920 


COPYRIGHT,    I92O,   BY 

,  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


COPYEIGHTj   IQ20,  BT 
IBS  MCCLURE  PUBLICATIONS,  IMC. 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  TRAP 


CHAPTER  I 


north  side  of  Fitzhugh  Square,  in  con- 
trast with  its  curious  surroundings,  is  a 

-JL  never-failing  source  of  astonishment  to 
the  stranger  unfamiliar  with  the  peculiar  neighbor- 
hood. Three  sides  of  the  Square,  a  city  park  of 
drab,  discouraging  aspect,  are  little  better  than  a 
slum,  its  salient  features  an  array  of  flyblown  board- 
ing-houses, apartments,  studios,  sweatshop  lofts, 
stale  saloons  and  tenements;  yet  in  spite  of  this,  in 
spite,  too,  of  the  quarter's  somewhat  unsavory  re- 
pute, the  Square's  isolated  upper  side  is  one  of  the 
most  aristocratic  sections  of  the  city. 

The  long  row  of  huge  old-fashioned  houses,  each 
with  its  pretentious  brick  and  marble  front,  its 
Colonial  doorway,  its  battery  of  prim  square-paned 
windows,  survives  as  a  relic  of  the  day  when  the 
Square,  all  its  four  sides  intact,  was  the  hub  and 
pivot  of  the  town's  smart-social  life.  How  long  ago* 

i 


2135471  ' 


The  Trap 

that  was  or  why  its  glories  waned  no  one  remembers 
now;  the  fact  remains,  however,  that  the  row's 
tenants,  a  handful  of  the  old  regime,  have  ever  since 
that  day  stood  their  ground,  resisting  stoutly  every 
effort  to  dislodge  them.  Having  been  born  in  the 
Square,  with  the  calm  decision  of  the  true  aristocrat, 
evidently,  they  mean  to  stay. 

True,  in  the  lapse  of  time,  the  row  has  become  a 
good  deal  battered  about  the  edges ;  its  vast  interiors, 
always  somewhat  dim,  seem  to  have  become  rather 
dingy,  too ;  however,  this  decay  the  tenants  regard — 
not  with  regret  but,  instead,  with  apparent  pride. 
To  them,  the  crumbling  brick  and  stained,  flanking 
marble  stamp  the  row  with  distinction — the  respecta- 
bility of  mellow  age.  It  is,  in  fact,  as  if  each  house, 
like  wine,  had  been  improved  in  worth  by  time — a 
quality,  now  it  is  mentioned,  that  seems  shared  by 
many  of  the  tenants,  too.  All  the  older  families,  at 
any  rate,  have  about  them  this  look  and  manner — 
an  air  of  sound,  seasoned  importance  rather  more 
convincing  than  that  of  the  newer  uptown  aristoc- 
racy. But  then,  the  prestige  of  Fitzhugh  Square 
does  not  depend  on  money.  Money  these  families 
always  have  had — a  fact  that  enables  them  to  look 
down  on  those  whose  wealth  is  of  newer  origin. 

2 


The  Trap 

As  for  those  who  have  never  had  it,  these,  naturally, 
do  not  enter  into  any  of  their  calculations. 

The  essential  fact,  in  short,  is  that  Fitzhugh 
Square,  at  the  north,  rates  itself  as  a  bit  above  the 
rest  of  the  world. 

Eight  o'clock  is  the  hour  at  which  the  row,  in  its 
habit  of  formal  stateliness,  seats  itself  at  dinner;  and 
this  hour  was  just  striking  from  the  city's  clocks 
when  a  closed  motor  turned  the  corner  at  the  avenue, 
its  destination  a  door  half  way  down  the  block.  The 
house,  the  residence  of  Henry  Lester,  was  one  of  the 
most  pretentious  in  the  row.  The  motor,  however, 
unlike  the  usual  equipages  that  bring  guests  to  dinner 
in  the  Square,  was  merely  a  hired  car — a  livery  cab 
of  not  too  smart  appearance. 

Two  passengers  rode  within.  The  two  were 
women;  and,  as  it  seemed,  at  least  one  of  these  was 
as  unfamiliar  with  the  neighborhood  as  the  dowdy 
vehicle  that  brought  her  there.  At  any  rate,  as  the 
cab  drew  up  at  the  curb  the  lady  in  question  was 
leaning  forward  on  her  seat,  peering  at  the  sur- 
roundings and  commenting  volubly. 

"See,  Sally,  how  big  the  houses  are !  Aren't  they 
swell  ?  Look  what  a  big  park  it  is,  too !  The  houses 
on  that  side  look  pretty  seedy,  though.  I  wonder 

3 


The  Trap 

Mr.  Lester  don't  buy  the  places  and  tear  them  down. 
He  could  with  all  his  money." 

The  speaker  was  a  slight,  slender  woman  with 
light  brown  hair,  tresses  a  little  faded  and  thin. 
Manifestly,  though,  she  was  a  person  of  active, 
energetic  habit;  in  fact,  the  only  uncertainty  about 
her  seemed  to  be  her  age.  She  might  have  been  fifty, 
even  fifty-five;  yet  her  air,  that  manner  of  brisk 
activity,  was  in  its  energy  youthful.  So  was  her 
attire.  The  dress  she  wore  was  a  dinner  gown  cut 
in  the  extreme  of  fashion ;  but  what  one  would  have 
remarked  about  it  most,  perhaps,  was  not  its  extreme 
nor  its  propriety;  it  was,  instead,  its  unmistakable 
look  of  newness.  But  then,  on  some  women  new 
•dresses  always  seem  conspicuously  new.  It  is  just 
as  it  happens. 

As  the  cab  stopped  the  lady  hurriedly  adjusted 
the  rather  large-lensed  glasses  she  wore,  and  cast  a 
look  at  the  house. 

"Oh,  see,  there's  a  butler  opening  the  door !  Come 
on,  Sally!" 

It  was  not  a  butler,  it  happened,  but  Lester's  valet, 
Mawsby ;  however,  the  girl  in  the  corner  of  the  cab 
said  nothing.  Silently,  her  brown  eyes  vague,  she 
drew  her  wraps  about  her  and  alighted. 

4 


The  Trap 

The  other  was  already  halfway  up  the  steps. 
Over  her  shoulder  she  addressed  a  brief  direction 
to  the  girl. 

"Pay  the  cabman,  Sally.  A  dime's  enough  for  a 
tip." 

Then  she  turned  briskly  to  the  servant,  apparently 
recognizing  the  man. 

"How  de  do,  Mawsby.  Hope  we've  not  kept  any 
one  waiting?" 

The  man  seemed  to  stiffen.  It  was  not  the  speech, 
however,  that  gave  him  this  air;  it  was  the  tone, 
rather,  in  which  it  had  been  addressed  to  him.  Its 
easiness,  not  to  say  familiarity,  was,  to  say  the  least, 
unaccustomed. 

"Step  in,  if  you  please,"  he  said  dryly. 

Then  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  girl  at  the  curb. 
She  had  caught  up  her  dress  as  she  alighted,  the 
hem  of  her  skirt  lifted  so  that  her  flat,  slender  ankles 
showed;  the  wrap,  too,  had  fallen  a  bit  from  her 
shoulders,  and  they  were  white,  soft  and  rounded. 
Mawsby  had  seen  other  good-looking  women  before 
— smart  ones,  too,  they  were ;  but  about  this  girl  and 
her  array  of  attractions  must  have  been  something 
unusual.  At  any  rate,  as  he  gazed  down  the  steps 
at  her,  his  eyes  had  in  them  a  curious  interest. 

5 


The  Trap 

The  other  he  ignored.  As  the  girl  drew  out  a 
smart  beaded  bag,  and  felt  in  its  depths  for  the  cab 
fare,  the  servant  left  the  door,  and  went  hesitantly 
toward  her.  "If  I  could  pay  him,  Miss  .  .  .  the 
master/'  he  faltered  uncertainly;  but  the  girl  shook 
her  head.  Giving  the  cabman  a  bill,  she  also  handed 
him  not  the  dime  the  other  had  suggested,  but  a 
twenty-five  cent  piece.  "That  is  for  you,"  she  was 
saying,  when  in  the  dark,  from  around  the  end  of 
the  cab,  one  of  those  terrifying,  slouching  figures, 
a  nightbird  such  as  those  that  frequent  the  Square, 
shambled  up  beside  her.  Startled,  the  girl  gave  a 
gasp — a  murmur  of  alarm,  repulsion,  too;  and  turn- 
ing swiftly,  she  pattered  up  the  steps.  For  some 
reason  the  encounter  seemed  to  have  shaken  her 
strangely.  She  shivered  slightly  as  she  entered  the 
hall. 

The  other  woman  was  waiting  there. 

"What  was  it,  Sally?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing,  a  tramp,  that  was  all,"  was  the  reply; 
but  as  if  dissatisfied,  the  other  glanced  at  her  alertly. 
"What  was  that  man,  the  servant,  saying?"  she 
whispered  swiftly.  "I  saw  him  talking  to  you." 

The  girl  was  gazing  about  the  big  hall,  her  eye§ 
wandering  over  its  dim,  shadowy  vastness. 

6 


The  Trap 

"He  asked  me  to  let  him  pay  for  the  cab,"  she 
replied. 

"Did  you?"  demanded  the  other;  and  when  the 
girl  shook  her  head,  she  exclaimed:  "You  didn't?" 
A  jerk  of  her  shoulders  showed  her  evident  annoy- 
ance. "That's  a  dollar  and  more  gone!  What  were 
you  thinking  of,  anyway?" 

The  brown  eyes  withdrew  themselves  from  the 
recesses  of  the  hall  beyond,  and  fixed  themselves 
gravely  on  the  questioner. 

"I  was  thinking,  if  I  did,  what  might  be  thought 
of  us.  Isn't  that  sufficient  ?" 

But  her  companion,  obviously  irritated,  seemed 
neither  to  heed  the  speech  nor  the  tone  of  signifi- 
cance in  which  it  was  uttered.  "Pshaw! — a  serv- 
ant !"  she  ejaculated  disdainfully. 

"True,"  replied  the  girl  quietly;  "but  then,  even 
servants  are  quick  to  see,  to  understand." 

There  was  a  directness  in  this  so  definite  as  not 
to  be  mistaken ;  and  the  other's  eyes  dropped  beneath 
the  girl's  steady  gaze.  Once  the  older  woman  opened 
her  lips  as  if  to  speak,  but  then  seemed  to  think 
better  of  it.  The  manservant,  too,  was  just  re-enter- 
ing. "This  way,  if  you  please,"  he  directed;  and 
showing  them  down  the  hall,  he  indicated  the  room 

7 


The  Trap 

where  they  were  to  remove  their  wraps.  In  the 
room  a  middle-aged,  voluminous  person  in  an  apron 
and  black  gown  stood  waiting. 

The  brief  journey  down  the  hall  seemed  to  have 
revived  the  older  of  the  two  guests'  animated  spirits. 
"How  de  do !"  she  exclaimed,  buoyantly  addressing 
the  aproned  attendant,  that  personage,  too,  like 
Mawsby,  seeming  startled  at  such  friendliness  from 
a  superior.  The  lady,  however,  meant  clearly  to  be 
friendly.  "One  of  Mr.  Lester's  old  family  retainers, 
I  presume,"  she  suggested. 

The  girl  looked  up  with  another  alert,  quick-eyed 
gleam.  The  servant's  confusion  must  have  been 
clear  to  her — its  cause,  as  well;  for  again  the 
shadowy  eyes  had  in  them  the  fleeting  hint  of  a  smile. 
It  was  amused,  mocking ;  it  seemed  curiously,  a  little 
worried  too;  but  saying  nothing,  with  a  movement 
of  her  shoulders  she  slipped  off  her  heavy,  brocaded 
wrap.  Under  the  glow  of  the  gas-jets  she  stood 
revealed  now,  her  young  shoulders  dazzling,  her  face 
with  its  clear  skin,  its  deep  brown  eyes  and  rather 
full  expressive  mouth,  boylike  in  its  vigor  and  fresh- 
ness. A  more  than  ordinary  young  person,  one 
would  have  thought  her,  and  even  her  companion 

8 


The  Trap 

seemed  to  think  so,  too.  After  a  searching  critical 
glance,  she  nodded  her  approval. 

"Come  along,  Sal!"  directed  Mrs.  Steese  gayly, 
and  started  away. 

But  at  the  door  the  gayety  lapsed  swiftly.  The 
attendant,  busy  with  their  wraps,  had  her  back  to 
them,  and  the  woman  again  bent  swiftly  to  the  girl. 

"Mind,  it's  your  chance !"  she  whispered.  "Now 
remember !" 

The  girl's  eyes,  in  them  a  look  of  languor,  closed 
wearily.  Again  her  figure  quivered,  trembling  as 
with  a  chill. 

"I  remember,"  she  replied;  and  down  the  hall,  at 
this  juncture,  Mawsby  drew  back  the  hangings  of 
the  doorway  that  led  into  Lester's  somber,  cryptlike 
drawing-room. 

"Mrs.  Steese,  Miss  Raeburn!"  he  announced. 


CHAPTER  II 

DINNERS,  as  a  prescribed  method  of  en- 
tertainment, are  habitual  to  Fitzhugh 
Square;  but  invariably  formal,  they  are 
seldom,  if  ever,  what  one  might  call  animated.  The 
dinner  to-night,  though,  appeared  to  be  the  excep- 
tion. It  was  so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  a  somewhat 
unusual  expression  applied  to  it  by  one  of  the  guests, 
the  Mrs.  Steese  just  announced,  seems  in  some  re- 
spects justified. 

Cozy  was  the  term  she  used. 

Safe  to  say,  few  other  dinners  in  the  vast,  impos- 
ing dining-room  ever  had  earned  the  description; 
however,  it  was  not  only  in  this  cosiness,  such  as  it 
was,  that  the  evening  was  out  of  the  ordinary.  The 
Square's  other  residents,  had  any  happened  to  be 
present,  would  probably  have  considered  many  of 
the  details  unwonted.  One,  in  point,  was  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  host  had  been  at  pains  to  give  it. 

For  a  year  the  house  had,  to  all  intents,  stood 
vacant,  its  only  occupant  a  caretaker  in  the  basement. 

10 


The  Trap 

It  was,  in  fact,  this  woman  who  had  helped  the  ladies 
with  their  wraps.  That  same  afternoon,  though, 
dusk  had  just  begun  to  fall  when  the  silent,  shuttered 
dwelling  so  long  untenanted  began  to  bustle  with 
activity,  the  first  sign  of  this  the  arrival  of  a  taxi- 
cab  laden  to  the  roof  with  luggage.  Rounding  the 
corner  it  drew  up  at  the  curb  in  front,  when  its  fare 
alighted  and  hurried  to  the  basement  door.  Here 
the  man — it  was  Mawsby,  Lester's  valet — laid  hold 
of  the  antiquated  bellpull  and  gave  it  a  series  of 
energetic  jerks.  Instantly,  the  house  resounded  with 
the  bell's  echoes,  a  clanging  audible  even  in  the 
street;  but  as  if  unsatisfied  with  this,  the  valet  also 
thumped  and  pounded  on  the  door.  Presently,  in 
answer,  the  caretaker  appeared  and  the  very  instant 
she  laid  eyes  on  the  manservant  she  gaped,  her 
astonishment  evident. 

Mawsby  abruptly  cut  short  her  exclamations. 
Giving  the  woman  an  unceremonious  shove,  he 
darted  inside,  reappearing  a  moment  later  at  the 
street  door  above.  This  he  flung  open,  and  coming 
down  the  steps  with  the  same  unabated  haste  he 
began  to  carry  inside  the  luggage  that  filled  the  cab. 
The  vehicle  having  been  emptied  of  its  load,  de- 
parted. 

II 


The  Trap 

It  hardly  had  gone  when  a  caterer's  van  rattled  up 
to  the  door.  From  it  descended  a  trio  of  men  who 
under  the  valet's  directions  bore  into  the  basement  a 
variety  of  boxes  and  hampers.  The  wagon,  then, 
having  been  unloaded,  two  of  its  men  remaining  in 
the  house,  drove  away,  when  a  few  minutes  later  a 
florist's  cart  arrived.  A  number  of  cardboard  boxes 
as  well  as  half  a  dozen  plants  in  pots  were  dis- 
charged from  this  when  it  too  departed,  giving  way, 
in  turn,  to  a  small  van  in  charge  of  two  men  in  uni- 
form, the  wagon  bearing  on  its  panels  the  name  of 
a  well-known  jewelry  house.  From  this  a  huge 
oaken  chest  was  discharged,  its  top  padlocked  and 
further  secured  by  tape  bindings  sealed  at  the  ends 
with  wax.  This,  the  park  loungers  with  close  inter- 
est judged  to  be  the  Lester  plate ;  however,  the  man- 
servant at  the  door  having  signed  the  guard's 
delivery-book,  the  chest  was  carried  inside,  after 
which  the  wagon  drove  off. 

It  was  quite  dark  now ;  and  the  huge,  bleak  dwell- 
ing plunged  in  gloom  seemed  to  relapse  into  its 
former  tomb-like  quiet;  but  just  as  the  clocks  were 
striking  six,  and  the  park  lights  began  to  glow  and 
gutter,  the  curtains  at  an  upper  window  parted,  and 

12 


The  Trap 

a  heavy,  square  faced  figure,  its  movements  delib- 
erate, stood  at  the  opening. 

For  a  moment  the  stolid  face  with  its  fixed,  search- 
ing gaze  peered  down  at  the  park  in  front.  In  the 
gloom  the  paths  with  their  benches  were  almost 
obscured ;  but  it  was  on  these,  the  benches,  especially, 
that  the  man  at  the  window  fixed  his  gaze.  From 
one  to  the  other,  curiously,  his  sight  wandered, 
skipping  those  that  were  empty,  and  interested,  if  it 
were  only  idly,  in  those  which  were  occupied.  These 
were  not  many,  it  happened;  for  if  the  time  was, 
indeed,  spring,  the  weather,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
anything  but  balmy.  However,  the  figure  at  the 
window  inspected  each,  the  hand  holding  back  the 
curtains  withdrew  itself;  and  the  figure  disappeared 
from  view.  A  moment  later  lights  sprang  up  with- 
in; and  going  from  window  to  window,  Lester's 
valet  began  pulling  down  the  shades. 

In  other  words,  after  a  year's  absence  the  master 
of  the  house,  Henry  Lester,  had  just  come  home. 

The  dinner,  in  view  of  the  informality,  not  to  say 
impulsive  haste,  with  which  it  had  been  arranged, 
was  perhaps  to  celebrate  the  event.  If  so,  however, 
the  host's  appearance  as  he  stood  now  in  his  draw- 
ing-room did  not  indicate  its  festive  nature.  Having 


The  Trap 

dressed  himself  for  the  evening,  at  half-past  seven 
he  had  come  down  to  greet  the  first  of  his  guests; 
and,  planted  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  his  brows 
contracted,  his  eyes  lowering,  he  seemed  anything 
but  the  gracious  host. 

"I've  told  you  already,"  he  was  saying  thickly, 
"I  came  home  because  I  was  tired  of  traveling! 
That's  enough,  isn't  it?" 

He  was  a  young  man,  not  above  thirty-five  at  the 
most;  bulky  in  build  and  slow  and  deliberate  in 
manner.  However,  in  spite  of  his  features,  cold 
and  forbidding  as  they  were,  he  was  still  good  look- 
ing ;  though  what  one  remarked  the  most  about  him 
was  his  eyes — gray  and,  in  expression,  somber  and 
dissatisfied.  One  got  from  them,  in  fact,  the  impres- 
sion that  money,  in  its  possession,  may  be  as  provoc- 
ative of  discontent  as  poverty.  A  millionaire 
several  times  over,  a  bachelor  to  boot,  Lester, 
though,  was  responsible  to  no  one  but  himself  for 
his  happiness. 

The  person  he  was  addressing,  a  tall,  elderly  man 
with  well-bred,  pleasant  ways,  regarded  him  with  a 
smile.  It  was  to  be  seen,  however,  that  the  smile  was 
covertly  sardonic. 

"Tired,  you  say?"  he  repeated. 


The  Trap 

"That's  what  I  said!"  retorted  Lester;  and  with 
a  scowl  he  added :  "How  many  times  do  I  have  to 
say  it?" 

"Once  is  sufficient,"  was  the  reply,  "once,  Harry, 
only  please  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that  I 
wasn't  born  yesterday.  You  didn't  bolt  home  the 
way  you  did  without  some  other  reason !" 

Lester  turned  with  a  scowl. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  lying?"  he  demanded. 

The  guest  stared,  then  his  lean,  well-bred  face 
froze  with  a  bleak,  stony  smile. 

"If  I  did,  do  you  think  I'd  waste  breath  on  you, 
my  boy?"  Then  the  smile,  its  hardness  waning, 
turned  whimsical.  "That's  the  trouble,  Harry! 
Usually,  you're  so  damned,  brutally  frank  when 
you've  been  up  to  something  that  I  can't  make  heads 
or  tails  of  this!"  Having  said  this,  the  speaker's 
tone  grew  firm  again.  "Be  careful,  though,  my  lad ! 
I  warn  you,  some  day  you'll  get  your  fingers 
burned!" 

Sharp  talk  this — unduly  sharp  for  a  man  like  the 
host  to  hear — Lester  accustomed  to  deference,  the 
cushioned  ease  his  millions  brought  him.  But 
Horace  Ashe — for  that  was  the  guest's  name — was 
one  of  the  few  privileged  to  use  such  talk.  The 

15 


The  Trap 

intimate  friend  of  Lester's  father,  he  also  had  been 
executor  of  the  estate,  the  millions  the  father  had 
left.  That  he  had  relished  the  trust,  was  doubtful. 
The  estate  he  had  handed  over  when  Lester  came  of 
age;  his  interest  in  the  man,  however,  he  could  not 
relinquish  so  easily.  Lester  was  the  son  of  his  oldest 
and  dearest  friend. 

"Now,  hear  me,  Harry,"  exhorted  Ashe,  "I  know 
you  like  a  book,  and  when  you  do  the  unexpected — 
this  home-coming,  for  example — you  do  it  with  a 
purpose.  You've  got  me  worried,  son;  I'd  hate  to 
tell  you  how  many  nights'  sleep  old  George  Lester's 
son  has  cost  me.  You  don't  drink,  of  course,  don't 
run  wild,  cut  loose  with  your  money — do  the  things 
other  boys,  the  sons  of  rich  fathers,  do  ...  that's 
just  it!  If  you  did,  I'd  know  how  to  act.  What 
you  do  is  usually  so  devilish  strange  and  outlandish 
that  I've  been  staggered!  ...  Be  frank,  Harry; 
tell  me — what  now?" 

A  sulky  growl  came  from  Lester.  During  the 
harangue  he  had  stared  at  Ashe,  his  eyes  uneasy. 

"How  do  you  know  I'm  up  to  anything?"  he 
mumbled. 

Ashe  shrugged  his  slender  shoulders. 

"Suit  yourself,  my  boy!  A  week  ago  you  wrote 
16 


The  Trap 

me  you'd  not  be  home  for  six  months,  yet  here  you 
pop  up  like  a  Jack-in-the-box,  telling  no  one  your 
change  of  plans.  Now  don't  say  you're  not  up  to 
something,"  Ashe  said  abruptly;  "to  be  blunt,  I've 
been  warned  you  are!" 

Lester  stared. 

"Warned?" 

Ashe  met  his  look  undaunted. 

"Is  it  a  woman,  Harry  ?"  he  asked ;  and  instantly 
he  seemed  to  strike  fire. 

Lester's  eyes,  veiled  under  their  heavy  lids,  leaped 
with  sudden  light ;  and  halting  abruptly  in  his  uneasy 
pacing  to  and  fro,  he  glanced  at  Ashe  as  if  startled. 
But  only  for  an  instant.  The  next  moment  his  lip 
curled,  and  he  laughed,  the  laugh  contemptuous. 

"A  woman?  .  .  .  rot!    What  are  women  to  me ?" 

Little  of  consequence,  that  was  sure,  as  Ashe  knew 
more  than  one  woman  had  learned;  but,  reaching 
into  his  pocket,  he  took  out  an  envelope.  Its  paper 
was  thick  and  heavy;  on  its  flap  a  crest  was  em- 
bossed. Silently  Ashe  handed  it  to  Lester,  who 
opened  it,  and  idly  glanced  at  the  writing  inside. 
Then,  as  idly,  he  looked  up  at  Ashe. 

"So  that's  how  you  heard  I  was  home,  was  it?" 

"It  was,"  replied  Ashe. 

17 


The  Trap 

"How  you  were  warned,  too,  I  was  up  to  some- 
thing?" added  Lester. 

Ashe  nodded ;  and,  his  face  ironic,  Lester  handed 
back  the  note.  „  The  writer  Ashe  had  known  since  a 
child;  and  as  he  took  the  envelope  he  looked  Lester 
square  in  the  eye. 

"Harry,  do  you  mean  to  marry  Mrs.  Dewitt?"  he 
demanded. 

The  reply  was  definite.  "I  do  not,"  said  Lester, 
bluntly.  It  was,  in  fact,  so  blunt  that  Ashe  for  a 
moment  seemed  confused. 

"What !"  he  exclaimed. 

"No,"  said  Lester ;  and  Ashe  stared  again. 

"That's  singular/'  he  said  slowly;  "Mrs.  Dewitt 
told  me  over  the  telephone  she  was  dining  with  you 
to-night." 

"So  she  is,"  responded  Lester;  and,  grinning 
covertly,  he  added:  "That's  why  I  asked  you,  too." 
Then,  as  Ashe  stared,  he  drawled  indolently,  "It 
may  calm  her  down." 

"Calm  her  down?" 

Over  his  shoulder  Lester  nodded.  He  had  wan- 
dered to  the  window,  and,  parting  the  heavy  hang- 
ings, he  was  peering  out  into  the  park,  his  eyes  again 
roaming  over  the  rows  of  benches  there.  "Yes," 

18 


The  Trap 

he  drawled,  his  tone  as  indifferent  as  before,  "I  don't 
know  how  she'll  act ;  just  the  same  I  had  to  ask  her 
here  to-night.  It's  for  a  reason." 

"A  reason?"  Asjie  stared  at  him,  his  wonder 
frank.  "Tell  me,  is  that  why  you  came  home?  Is 
that  why  you  gave  this  dinner,  too  ?" 

Lester  did  not  reply.  The  door  bell  at  that  instant 
had  sounded,  and,  both  hands  thrust  deep  into  his 
pockets,  he  turned  back  into  the  room.  Ashe  was 
still  gazing  at  him,  when  Mawsby  threw  open  the 
drawing-room  door.  "Mrs.  Dewitt,"  announced 
Mawsby ;  and  a  slender,  well-dressed  woman,  grace- 
ful and  good-looking,  entered. 

Slouching  toward  her,  Lester  held  out  a  limp, 
indifferent  hand. 

"How're  you,  Fanny?"  he  drawled.  Then,  his 
tone  unchanged,  he  added :  "We've  just  been  talking 
about  you.  Mr.  Ashe  showed  me  that  letter  you 
wrote." 

It  was  at  this  instant  that  the  door  bell  again 
rang,  and  the  other  two  ladies  entered  Lester's 
house. 


CHAPTER  III 

•m       >TRS-     STEESE,     Miss     Raeburn,"     an- 

\  / 1     nounced    Mawsby. 

-*~  ™  -*•  The  entrance  of  these  ladies,  the  two 
who  completed  the  number  of  guests  at  the  dinner, 
was  at  once  productive  of  a  new  note  in  the  drawing- 
room's  atmosphere.  Not  that  it  cleared  the  air, 
however.  Lester's  cool  greeting,  the  welcome  he  had 
given  Mrs.  Dewitt,  was  evidently  not  just  what  the 
lady  had  anticipated.  However,  as  the  door  opened, 
and  the  two  stood  revealed  there — one  young,  attrac- 
tive; the  other  manifestly  so  vivacious — the  effect 
their  appearance  created  was  visibly  distinct. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  shot  a  look  at  Ashe.  In  the  look  was 
inquiry,  not  to  say  astonishment.  Possibly  she  had 
expected  other  guests;  perhaps  none  at  all.  But 
Ashe  did  not  catch  the  glance.  His  own  air  curious, 
he  was  inspecting  the  two  ladies  with  unassumed 
interest,  eyeing  the  host  as  well. 

Lester,  springing  to  his  feet,  had  hurried  to  greet 
the  newcomers. 

20 


The  Trap 

In  contrast  with  the  welcome  he  had  given  Mrs. 
Dewitt,  the  host's  cordiality  was  noticeable.  "Ah, 
here  you  are !  Everything  all  right  ?  So  delighted 
to  see  you!"  he  was  exclaiming;  and  Mrs.  Dewitt, 
her  brows  raised,  smiled  vaguely  as  she  heard  him. 
Lester,  however,  seemed  presently  to  recollect  his 
duties  as  a  host.  Saying  something  to  the  girl,  he 
turned  to  Mrs.  Dewitt.  "This  is  Miss  Raeburn, 
Fanny,"  he  said  abruptly,  adding  then:  "I  wanted 
you  especially  to  meet  her." 

There  was  a  hint  of  mockery  in  his  tone  as  he  said 
it  that  evidently  did  not  escape  Mrs.  Dewitt.  "De- 
lighted," she  returned.  That  she  was,  though,  one 
had  doubts.  A  slight  suggestion  of  chill  was  now 
perceptible  in  her  air,  a  stiffness  that  Lester  seemed 
to  see.  Again  a  gleam  of  mockery  sprang  into  his 
eye. 

It  was  gone,  though,  when  again  he  turned  to  the 
girl.  "Here's  Mr.  Ashe,  he's  keen  to  know  you, 
too,"  smiled  he.  Then,  seeming  to  remember  Mrs. 
Steese,  he  strolled  toward  her. 

The  lady  until  now  had  been  left  to  shift  for 
herself.  Not  that  it  had  seemed  in  the  least  to  dis- 
concert her,  though.  Her  eyes  animated,  she  was 
busily  inspecting  the  drawing-room,  the  other 

21 


The  Trap 

guests  as  well.     "Find  good  rooms?"  asked  Lester, 
his  tone  casual.    "Hotel  what  you  like?" 

"Swell !"  was  the  vivacious  reply. 

The  reply,  briskly  given,  for  some  reason  pro- 
duced a  marked  pause  in  the  drawing-room.  Mrs. 
Dewitt,  her  eyes  widening,  turned  abruptly  to  stare. 
As  it  was  evident,  Mrs.  Steese  was  a  stranger  to  her. 
As  it  was  also  evident,  she  seemed  to  feel  a  close 
interest  in  her  presence.  Ashe,  too,  turned  toward 
the  speaker.  He  had,  in  fact,  glanced  as  if  involun- 
tarily at  Mrs.  Steese.  Then  he  restrained  himself. 
The  girl  beside  him,  as  if  conscious  of  the  pause, 
spoke. 

"I've  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Ashe,"  she  said  quietly, 
her  air  unaffectedly  simple.  "Mr.  Lester  must  be 
very  fond  of  you,  I  think."  Her  voice,  too,  in  con- 
trast with  her  companion's,  was  soft  and  modulated, 
its  inflection  cultivated.  Ashe  heard  it  agreeably. 

"His  father  was  my  best  friend,"  he  replied. 
Then,  a  quick  thought  inspiring  him,  he  added : 
"Perhaps  you  knew  his  father?" 

Miss  Raeburn  shook  her  head.  "I  know  few  New 
Yorkers,  Mr.  Ashe.  This  is  my  first  day  here." 

"Indeed!"  remarked  Ashe;  then  still  inspired  he 
added :  "I  supposed  Lester  had  met  you  here." 

22 


The  Trap 

Mr.  Ashe,  frankly,  supposed  nothing  of  the  sort. 
A  downright  untruth  the  gentleman  no  doubt  would 
have  scorned  to  utter;  this,  however,  was  different. 
Diplomacy,  he  would  have  termed  it ;  for  somehow, 
though  he  had  just  laid  eyes  on  her,  already  she 
interested  him. 

Whatever  the  interest,  though,  the  lady  as  subtly 
seemed  to  grasp  it. 

"I  met  him  .  .  .  elsewhere,"  she  returned,  smiling 
vaguely. 

Ashe  felt  he  had  been  snubbed.  If  so,  though,  the 
girl  was  quick  to  make  amends.  "It  was  out  West, 
Mr.  Ashe,  in  California.  I  was  born  there,  you 
know." 

"Ah!"  Ashe  smiled  back  at  her,  "a  native  then?" 

Her  eyes  twinkled  momentarily.  "Yes,  but  don't 
be  alarmed !  I'm  not  going  to  take  the  evening  tell- 
ing you  how  wonderful  our  climate  is."  She  glanced 
at  him  slyly,  then.  "Because,  of  course,  you  know  it 
is,"  she  said. 

In  spite  of  himself — the  ill-defined  feeling  of  re- 
straint her  presence  first  had  given  him — Ashe  felt 
himself  thaw.  "You  speak  as  if  you  come  from 
Los  Angeles,"  he  laughed,  and  the  girl  laughed,  too. 
"No,  I'm  from  California,  I  said,"  she  retorted. 

23 


The  Trap 

Ashe,  who  had  been  often  enough  in  the  state  to 
grasp  the  implied  distinction,  had  to  laugh  again. 
"Ah,  a  San  Franciscan!"  he  exclaimed;  and  as  the 
girl  bobbed  her  head,  he  asked :  "Is  Mrs.  Steese,  too, 
a  Calif ornian?" 

"No,"  was  the  prompt  reply,  "she's  from  Los 
Angeles !" 

Ashe  was  charmed  with  her  readiness. 

A  bright,  engaging  girl,  he  reflected.  The  other, 
her  companion,  however,  puzzled  him.  Over  his 
shoulder  he  could  hear  her  talking,  and  at  the  sound, 
the  high-pitched  inflection  of  Mrs.  Steese's  voice,  he 
wondered  mildly  that  the  two  should  be  together. 
Then,  to  his  added  wonder  a  moment  later,  he 
learned  that  Mrs.  Steese  was  Miss  Raeburn's  aunt. 
"Really?"  he  murmured  in  spite  of  himself. 

The  girl's  clear  eyes  gazed  at  him  levelly. 

"Why  not  ?"  she  inquired. 

More  than  a  question,  though,  the  quiet  response 
had  in  it  a  note  that  was  curiously  like  a  challenge. 
Ashe,  however,  made  no  reply.  Mrs.  Steese  was 
still  speaking,  saying  something  to  Lester  about 
investments  she  had  to  make — heavy  investments 
they  appeared,  too,  from  what  she  said;  evidently  she 
had  money.  And  money,  Ashe  reflected,  signified 

24 


The  Trap 

much.  It  might  even  explain  Mrs.  Steese's  nature 
and  appearance. 

He  was  still  covertly  studying  her  when  Mawsby 
threw  open  the  dining-room  doors. 

''Dinner  is  served,  sir,"  said  Mawsby. 

Lester  was  still  listlessly  hearkening  to  Mrs. 
Steese.  At  the  announcement,  though,  he  awoke 
abruptly  from  his  lethargy;  and  leaving  her  agape, 
strangled  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  he  hurried 
toward  Ashe  and  Miss  Raeburn.  Ashe  he  asked  to 
escort  the  other  ladies ;  then  he  offered  his  arm  to  the 
girl. 

"Come,"  said  Lester,  his  eyes  on  hers ;  "I've  been 
waiting  to  see  you  at  my  table,  I've  wanted  to  see 
how  you  looked  there." 

Then  he  laughed. 

The  laugh  was  light.  Light  as  it  was,  though, 
again  it  had  in  it  a  veiled  note  of  mockery;  and 
the  girl  glanced  at  him  swiftly.  The  next  instant 
she  colored  visibly. 

But  the  bald  speech,  uncouth  for  a  man  of  Lester's 
type,  had  not  affected  her  alone.  It  had  been  audible 
to  all ;  and  Ashe  glanced  instinctively  at  Mrs.  Dewitt. 
She  was  looking  straight  ahead  of  her,  head  erect, 
her  face  a  blank ;  but  that  she  had  caught  the  signifi- 

25 


The  Trap 

cance  of  what  Lester  had  said,  Ashe  had  no  doubt. 
Nor  did  he  doubt  that  Lester  had  intended  she 

/ 

should;  and  as  Ashe  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass,  the 
lean,  grizzled  face  darkened  reflectively.  The  look 
deepened,  once  he  had  glanced  at  the  dining-room. 

The  table  draped  with  a  shining  cloth  glittered 
with  the  Lester  plate,  a  service  he  knew  to  be  re- 
served for  state  occasions;  the  etched  crystal  glass- 
ware was  the  household's  best ;  and  at  the  center  was 
a  great  bunch,  a  bank  rather,  of  frail,  fragrant 
orchids.  What  they  must  have  cost  one  may  con- 
jecture; and  the  portraits  of  Lester's  Godfearing, 
thrifty  forebears,  pompous  in  their  high  stocks  and 
frilled  linen,  seemed  to  stare  down  at  the  array,  their 
air  austerely  stiff.  Little  wonder,  either.  The  dis- 
play would  have  befitted  a  banquet,  perhaps;  but 
this  dinner,  informal,  hastily  arranged  .  .  .  !  Ashe 
had  reason  to  marvel. 

The  host  and  Miss  Raeburn  entered  first;  Mrs. 
Steese,  all  exclamations,  followed.  The  table,  its 
appointments,  the  room  and  all  else  stirred  her  to 
ecstatic  comment.  Ashe's  eyes,  at  this,  again  wan- 
dered to  Mrs.  Dewitt.  That  lady,  however,  her 
violet  eyes  distant,  her  clearcut,  well-bred  features 
a  blank,  had  now  relapsed  into  absorbed,  unrespon- 

26 


The  Trap 

isive  vacancy.  Now  and  then,  though,  as  Mrs. 
Steese's  voice,  steadily  crescendo,  delivered  another 
exclamation,  the  silent  figure's  lip  curled  faintly  in 
disdain. 

It  was  curious,  to  say  the  least.  Certainly,  at  any 
rate,  the  Lester  dining-room  never  had  seated  a 
tableful  more  mixed  in  its  distinctive  elements.  And 
of  this  oddity  one  was  more  certain  the  more  Mrs. 
Dewitt  sat  there  frozen,  the  more,  at  the  other  side, 
Mrs.  Steese  amiably  rattled  on.  Evidently  it  was 
the  lady's  wish  to  make  herself  charming  and  agree- 
able— at  one  with  all,  the  host  especially;  yet  it  was 
this  effort  that,  from  the  first,  seemed  to  defeat  that 
very  purpose.  Perhaps  in  the  wish  to  show  herself 
at  ease  she  did  it  too  palpably.  Those  to  the  manner 
born  do  not  find  it  needful  to  remark  on  the  silver- 
ware, the  glass,  the  napery,  the  food  set  before  them ; 
but  each  and  all  these  details  evoked  from  the  guest 
a  ready  comment.  She  remarked  even  the  nature 
of  the  service — Mawsby's  method — sleek,  finished, 
pussyfooted. 

Ashe  heard  her  with  quickening  interest.  Money, 
as  he'd  assured  himself,  signifies  much.  As  also 
he'd  felt,  it  might  even  explain  Mrs.  Steese's  nature. 

27 


The  Trap 

It  could  not,  however,  quite  explain  the  reason  for 
Mrs.  Steese's  presence  at  that  table. 

There  was  at  this  moment  a  diversion.  Mrs. 
Steese  having  exhausted  apparently  the  topic  of  what 
was  "swell"  in  the  appointments,  she  turned  abruptly 
to  Mrs.  Dewitt.  That  lady  had  not  invited  overtures 
— quite  the  contrary,  rather — just  the  same  they 
were  briskly  volunteered. 

"D'you  know,  I  feel  quite  as  if  I  know  you,  Mrs. 
Dewitt — know  you  intimately,  my  dear.  You're 
Mrs.  Frank  Dewitt,  aren't  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Dewitt  was;  but  the  animation  with  which 
the  query  was  put  made  her  raise  her  brows.  Blind 
to  this,  Mrs.  Steese  plunged  on  exuberantly. 
"Your  husband  was  at  Monterey,  last  year — that's 
California,  you  know.  You  were  at  the  Harbor, 
though." 

While  she  had  never  before  heard  it  termed  that, 
Mrs.  Dewitt  divined  dimly  that  Bar  Harbor  must 
be  meant.  With  perceptible  stiffness  she  replied, 
''You  know  Mr.  Dewitt,  then!" 

"Not  exactly,"  was  the  brisk  reply,  "he  was  at 
Monterey  only  a  day  or  so — as  the  English  say,  just 
for  the  week-end.  Yes."  Why  the  English  rather 
than  any  one  else  was  not  indicated.  Mrs.  Steese's 

28 


The  Trap 

talk,  though,  was  interlarded  with  many  such  obser- 
vations. "Mr.  Dewitt  in  town  now?"  she  inquired. 

There  was  a  pause.  Ashe,  during  it,  stirred  un- 
comfortably. He  was  not  bored — far  from  it — 
though  the  ennui  his  face  expressed  was  endless. 
As  for  Mrs.  Dewitt,  her  face  unaltered,  she  sat  back 
with  folded  hands. 

"I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  replied  icily. 

Ashe  studied  the  questioner  intently.  The  fact  is, 
the  Dewitts  were  divorced;  they  had  been  parted 
three  years  now.  That  was  not  Ashe's  concern, 
though.  What  he  pondered  was  Mrs.  Steese. 

Who  was  this  woman?  Where  had  she  come 
from?  Why  had  Lester  asked  her  to  his  house? 
Dimly  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  him  that  her 
presence  was  not  due  solely  to  social  reasons.  He 
had,  too,  the  feeling  that  if  Mrs.  Steese  saw  fit  she 
could  cast  light  on  several  perplexities — one  of  them, 
Lester's  abrupt  return  to  New  York. 

The  reflection  made  him  peer  intently  toward 
the  table's  other  end.  The  host,  his  voice  lowered, 
was  intently  talking  to  Miss  Raeburn.  The  guest, 
her  air  absorbed,  was  gazing  at  her  plate. 

Who,  too,  was  this  girl? 

Mrs.  Steese  was  talking.  Obriously,  of  the  De- 
29 


The  Trap 

witts'  separation  she  knew  nothing.  Nor  did  she 
grasp  it  from  Mrs.  Dewitt's  icy  answer. 

"What  say?"  inquired  Mrs.  Steese. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  did  not  deign  to  reply.  Instead,  after 
another  pause,  she  stirred  as  if  she  meant  to  rise, 
to  leave  the  table ;  but  restraining  herself  she  sat  back 
rigidly.  Then,  but  not  till  then,  the  force  of  the 
reply  she'd  made  seemed  to  strike  Mrs.  Steese.  She 
smiled  a  deprecatory  smile.  "Oh,  I  see!"  she  was 
saying,  when  a  swift  thought  seemed  to  strike  her. 
Her  eyes  lighting,  she  glanced  suddenly  at  Mrs. 
Dewitt.  The  next  instant  her  glance  sped  toward 
Lester,  hovered  a  moment,  then  came  back  to  Mrs. 
Dewitt.  Suspicion  was  in  the  glance — distrust  and 
awakening  alarm.  She  was  visibly  disconcerted. 

Ashe  saw  it  all.  His  interest  now,  however,  had 
passed  from  Mrs.  Steese.  Her  talk,  her  manner — 
that  and  the  bumptious  air  of  pretense  about  her, 
he  saw  to  be  that  of  any  woman  who,  gorged  on  the 
newspapers'  social  intelligence,  revels  in  the  life  of 
those  she  has  never  known,  will  never  know.  What 
her  presence  in  the  house  involved,  he  had  a  guess; 
and  the  guess,  the  acute,  worldly  old  observer  felt 
to  be  accurate.  But  of  that,  never  mind.  Under  his 

30 


The  Trap 

bushy  brows,  Ashe  studied  the  girl  seated  at  Lester's 
right. 

All  sorts  and  conditions  of  women  had  Ashe 
known  in  his  time;  but  as  he  peered  at  Miss  Rae- 
burn,  his  lean  face  hawklike  in  its  scrutiny,  he  con- 
fessed to  himself  surprisingly  he  could  find  nothing 
to  criticize — nothing  to  disparage.  She  was  not  just 
good-looking — Miss  Raeburn's  manner,  carriage, 
look,  was  that  of  a  person  born  to  it.  She  was. 
manifestly  what  that  most  absurd,  mishandled  of  all 
terms  seeks  to  define — a  lady,  a  gentlewoman! 

He  knew  now  why  Lester  had  come  home.  The 
stroke  in  the  dark,  the  query,  the  insinuation,  had 
proved  right  after  all — "Harry,  is  it  a  woman?" 
It  was,  of  course,  a  woman.  The  woman  was  Miss 
Raeburn.  Satisfied  he  had  the  solution  at  last,  he 
smiled  bleakly  to  himself.  It  was  his  own  acumen, 
though,  rather  than  what  the  discovery  signified  that 
pleased  Mr.  Ashe.  However,  while  he  was  still 
chuckling  to  himself  at  his  own  cleverness,  a  new 
thought  suddenly  struck  him.  His  smile  waned.  His 
brows  contracted  sharply.  If  Lester  meant  to  marry 
Miss  Raeburn,  not  Mrs.  Dewitt,  why  were  the  two 
here  to-night  together? 


The  Trap 

But  that  was  too  much  of  a  riddle.  Disgusted, 
Ashe  gave  up  trying  to  solve  it. 

"Bah!" 

What  business  was  it  of  his,  anyway  ?  For  all  he 
cared,  Lester  could  go  to  the  devil.  So  could  the 
girl,  so  could  all  the  rest  of  them;  and,  annoyed 
now,  he  applied  himself  to  the  ham — it  was  a  Smith- 
field  ;  no,  it  wasn't — it  was  a  real  Tod,  after  all,  that 
Mawsby  served  with  the  lettuce.  Genuine  Tods  were 
rare  even  in  Mr.  Ashe's  cosmos,  and  vigorously  he 
applied  himself  to  an  appreciation  of  its  merits. 

Lester  spoke  abruptly. 

All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  the  low-voiced  talk 
he  had  carried  on  with  Miss  Raeburn,  he  awakened 
to  the  fact  that  she  heard  nothing  he  was  saying; 
instead,  a  faint  color  in  her  face,  she  was  listening 
uneasily  to  her  aunt's  garrulous  obligate.  That  lady 
having  recovered  from  the  momentary  chill  of  her 
recent  faux  pas,  had  now  launched  into  a  little  chat 
on  country  clubs  and  country  places,  the  most  select, 
adjacent  to  New  York.  It  was  to  Mrs.  Dewitt  that 
she  still  addressed  herself. 

That  lady,  her  ennui  dismal,  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders resignedly;  and  Ashe,  his  mouth  sardonic,  was 
busying  himself  with  the  Tod,  when  Lester  glancing 

32 


The  Trap 

from  Miss  Raeburn  to  Mrs.  Steese,  abruptly  inter- 
rupted. 

The  girl's  inattention  seemed  to  have  ruffled  him 
unduly.  "Ever  been  in  any  of  those  places?"  he  de- 
manded. 

Startled,  Mrs.  Steese  stopped  short,  caught  at  her 
breath,  then  flushed  crimson. 

"Why,  no,  not  exactly,"  she  stammered. 

"I  thought  not,"  drawled  Lester.  His  look  sulky, 
he  added:  "If  ever  you  had,  you  wouldn't  talk  such 
gammon  about  them!"  Then  he  grinned  at  her. 

In  the  grin  was  little  humor,  though.  Nor  did 
any  of  those  at  the  table  appear  to  regard  what  he'd 
said  as  humorous.  Mrs.  Steese,  now  scarlet,  gasped 
anew.  Even  Mrs.  Dewitt  seemed  to  pity  her,  for 
after  the  first  shock  of  Lester's  rudeness,  she  shot 
a  glance  at  him,  the  glance  filled  with  indignation. 

Miss  Raeburn,  too,  was  quick  to  feel  the  affront. 
A  look  of  fright,  of  trepidation,  sprang  into  her 
eyes;  the  next  instant,  though,  it  was  gone.  Ashe, 
looking  on  at  the  little  comedy,  saw  her  stiffen  with 
a  moment  of  dignified  pride.  Who  she  was,  what 
she  might  be,  he  forgot  instantly — the  girl  was,  at 
any  rate,  well  born — one  of  his  own  sort;  and 

33 


The  Trap 

noblesse  oblige,  old  Ashe's  heart  leaped  with  a  quick 
kindly  impulse. 

Suavely,  he  smiled  at  the  scorched,  startled  victim. 

"If  you're  staying  in  New  York,  Mrs.  Steese,  per- 
haps you'll  do  me  the  honor — you  and  your  niece — 
to  visit  my  country  place.  It's  not  much  of  an  es- 
tate— just  an  overgrown  farm;  but  if  you  care  for 
flowers — roses — I  can  show  you  some  that  are  un- 
usual. My  gardener  is  a  celebrity,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Steese  was  overwhelmed.  Ashe,  however, 
hardly  heard  her  protestations.  A  quick  glance  at 
the  girl  showed  him  her  eyes  glowed  with  gratitude 
for  his  timely  kindliness. 

Mrs.  Steese,  her  aplomb  somewhat  recovered,  was 
still  thanking  him  when  again  Lester  spoke. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  asked.  He  turned,  his 
glance  inquiring,  and  touched  the  girl  on  the  hand. 
At  the  touch  she  shrank;  but  Lester  gave  no  heed. 
"You're  going  to  visit  Ashe?  You  came  to  New 
York,  I  thought,  to  visit  Ferncliffe."  Ferncliffe  was 
his  own  place  on  the  Hudson.  "Aren't  you  coming, 
then?" 

Mrs.  Steese  grew  suddenly  alert.  Ashe  saw  her 
move  as  if  with  a  foot  she  strove  to  prod  Miss  Rae- 

34 


The  Trap 

burn  under  the  table.  And  what  the  prod  directed 
Ashe  had  no  doubt. 

"Yes,  I'm  coming,"  murmured  the  girl;  "I  said  I 
would,  didn't  I?" 

Mrs.  Steese  sat  back,  her  air  much  relieved.  "Oh, 
that's  different!"  said  Lester. 

A  lurking  smile  for  a  moment  lighted  his  face, 
and  asking  leave  of  no  one,  he  fumbled  for  his  cig- 
arette-case, took  out  a  blunt,  thick  cigarette,  and 
lighting  it  leaned  back,  blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke 
toward  the  ceiling. 

"Because,"  said  Lester  deliberately,  "it'll  be  quite 
a  party  at  Ferncliffe — quite  a  party." 

A  long  time  afterward,  slouched  down  in  his  chair, 
his  ruddy  face  aglow  above  the  broad  expanse  of 
his  shirt-front,  Lester  gave  a  sudden  laugh.  It  was 
apropos  of  nothing  being  said  at  the  moment,  for 
the  talk  by  now  had  lapsed  into  the  lamest,  most 
insignificant  sort.  As  Ashe  heard  the  laugh  he 
looked  up  sharply.  It  was  metallic,  jarring;  and 
Ashe  wondered  what  connection  it  had  with  what 
Lester  had  just  announced. 

"Quite  a  party,  quite  a  party." 


CHAPTER  IV 

evening  Ashe  would  ever  remember 
as  one  of  the  longest  in  his  experience. 
Interminably  prolonged,  it  dragged  itself 
along;  and  yet,  far  from  lacking  in  events,  it  seemed 
to  that  now  acute,  re-awakened,  observer  to  be  some- 
how filled  with  pregnant  occurrences. 

The  dinner  finished  finally.  The  guests,  all  four 
on  the  defensive  now,  no  longer  sought  to  make 
conversation,  even  the  voluble  Mrs.  Steese,  after 
Lester's  affront,  being  reduced  to  monosyllables ;  but 
preoccupied  as  the  four  had  become,  the  table  did 
not  want  for  small  talk ;  the  host  himself  supplied  it. 
A  fact,  for  the  man  was  not  lacking  in  graces. 
Say  what  you  will,  he  had  been  well  born,  well  bred 
• — a  foundation  hard  to  destroy  entirely ;  and  he  was 
neither  so  dull  nor  unread  as  some  who  knew  him 
chose  to  think.  It  was,  in  fact,  Ashe's  opinion  that 
wealth  with  its  ease  had  conspired  to  make  Lester 
what  he  was ;  that  had  he  been  poor,  forced  to  shift 
for  himself,  he  might  have  made  something  of  his 

36 


The  Trap 

life.  Ashe,  for  that  matter,  held  the  same  opinion 
of  himself.  "Here  am  I,"  he'd  say;  "I  have  brains 
and  I  have  had  youth,  yet  what  do  I  amount  to! 
.  .  .  Nothing,  once  I'm  dead."  As  for  his  host, 
Lester,  with  all  his  wealth,  Ashe  considered  him  the 
most  unfortunate  person  of  his  acquaintance.  Self- 
absorbed,  debilitated  by  idleness,  he  was  like  a  stalled 
ox  fattened  for  sacrifice  to  Mammon. 

But  now,  for  a  moment,  Lester  seemed  to  have 
shaken  off  that  fat.  What  the  reason  was,  who 
knows?  but  as  the  tableful  of  his  guests,  offended 
and  mute,  sat  there  like  statuary,  the  host's  mind  all 
at  once  rekindled.  Perhaps  he  realized  his  offense 
and  was  sorry;  at  any  rate,  he  made  amends.  The 
dismal  dinner  having  reached  its  end,  he  led  the  way 
to  the  library.  There  he  overdid  himself  in  gracious- 
ness. 

Ashe  again  grew  wondering.  A  subtle  excitement 
seemed  to  get  the  host;  it  was  as  if  the  wine  he  had 
drunk  at  dinner  began  to  mount  into  his  brain.  Or- 
dinarily, what  humor  he  showed  was  likely  to  be 
cynical,  often  sinister,  a  trait  common  to  all  self- 
absorbed  men ;  but  now  his  wit  had  no  sting  to  it. 

The  guests,  mollified,  began  presently  to  respond. 

"Take  my  advice,  Mrs.  Steese,"  he  said  all  at 

37 


The  Trap 

once;  "don't  refuse  Mr.  Ashe's  invitation.  His  roses 
are  wonders,  of  course ;  they're  not  a  mark,  though, 
to  the  dinner  he'll  give  you!"  Surprised,  Mrs. 
Steese  replied:  "But  I  thought  you  didn't  want  us 
to  visit  him !  We're  billed  for  Ferncliffe,  you  said," 
and  Lester  nodded  pleasantly.  "So  you  are;  but 
that's  not  for  a  week  yet.  I'll  see,  too,  that  he  makes 
good  his  invitation !" 

Then  he  crossed  the  room  to  Miss  Raeburn. 

"You  play  ?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

There  was  a  piano  in  the  room,  a  relic  of  the  mid- 
Victorian  cabinet  maker's — or  should  one  say  coffin 
maker's? — art;  and  Lester  raised  the  lid.  "Try 
something,  won't  you?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  rose,  and  without  pretext  of  demurring 
went  quietly  to  the  piano,  where  she  ran  a  scale 
or  two  on  the  yellowed  keys,  her  touch  deft  and 
practiced.  Lester's  eye  brightened  eagerly.  Again 
softly  she  touched  the  keys,  the  tone,  in  spite  of  the 
piano's  antiquity,  sonorous  and  true;  and  throwing 
back  her  scarf,  she  plunged  into  the  air  of  a  Hun- 
garian folk  dance,  an  energetic,  stimulating  meas- 
ure. "Admirable !"  cried  Lester. 

The  man  meant  it,  too. 

"You  care  for  music,  then?"  asked  the  girl;  and 
38 


The  Trap 

a  laugh,  its  tone  a  little  deprecatory,  escaped  him. 

"We  all  have  our  faults,  haven't  we?  One  of 
mine  is  that  music  breeds  in  me  unexpected  im- 
pulses." 

She  looked  up  at  him  quietly. 

"You  find  them  pleasant  impulses,  don't  you?" 

He  did  not  reply.  Going  to  a  cabinet  in  the  cor- 
ner, he  unlocked  it  with  a  key  from  his  pocket,  and 
brought  out  a  thin  paper  folio,  yellowed  and  fragile 
at  the  edges  with  age. 

"Here's  something  you  might  like  to  see — a  manu- 
script in  the  original  of  Haydn's  early  lieder.  It 
took  seven  years  of  my  time  to  trace  it." 

At  this  a  rapt  exclamation  escaped  Mrs.  Steese. 

"My,  but  it  must  have  cost  you  a  mint,  then!" 

A  frown  darkened  the  host's  eyes.  Annoyed,  his 
first  impulse  was  again  to  snub  her — one  saw  that; 
but  instantly  he  checked  himself.  "Money,  you 
mean?  .  .  .  what  of  that?  .  .  .  my  time,  either. 
The  point  is,  the  manuscript  would  have  been  lost  if 
I  hadn't  found  it." 

Then  he  placed  the  folio  in  the  music-rack. 

"Play  one,"  he  directed. 

Again,  softly,  the  girl  fingered  the  keys,  trying 
one  of  the  lieder  she  took  at  random.  It  was  a  com- 

39 


The  Trap 

plicated  thing,  the  effort  of  a  fledgling,  an  artist, 
however,  trying  to  express  a  theme  too  difficult  as 
yet  for  his  art.  The  player,  though,  seemed  to  grasp 
its  meaning;  and  with  her  slender,  graceful  hands 
she  drew  from  the  piano  a  measured  richness  of  har- 
mony and  tone  that  held  Lester  visibly  spellbound. 

She  knew  what  slie  was  about,  this  girl — that  was 
clear;  and  Ashe  sat  up,  electrified.  Mrs.  Dewitt, 
too,  seemed  impressed.  Her  lips  parted,  she  listened 
attentively ;  what  is  more,  it  was  evident  her  interest 
was  in  the  playing — not  in  the  player  or  the  way 
Lester,  either,  now  thoroughly  absorbed,  hung  over 
her  as  she  played.  As  for  Mrs.  Steese,  at  this  tri- 
umph of  her  forces,  she  glowed,  preening  herself 
with  satisfaction. 

"Some  player,  Sally;  isn't  she?" 

The  girl,  however,  seemed  unconscious  of  her  ef- 
fectiveness. 

Lester  abruptly  left  the  piano.  From  the  cabinet 
he  took  another  manuscript,  a  modern.  This  he 
spread  out  on  the  music-rack  and,  his  air  queer,  again 
a  little  deprecatory,  he  waited  for  her  to  begin.  The 
piece,  more  amateurish  than  the  others,  was  a  song 
with  words;  and  these  the  girl  sang,  her  voice  a 
clear,  accurately-placed  contralto,  just  enough  in 

40 


The  Trap 

volume  to  fill  the  high-walled  room.  The  air,  too, 
in  spite  of  its  crudity,  the  mawkishness  of  its  words 
as  well,  had  in  it  depth  and  understanding.  Mrs. 
Dewitt  was  staring  wide-eyed  now.  It  was  as  if  the 
song  had  touched  some  spring  of  memory  in  her 
mind. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Lester  as  the 
girl  finished. 

She  reflected  for  a  moment  "Who  wrote  it?" 
she  asked  indefinitely. 

He  laughed,  and  the  laugh  was  awkward.  "Tell 
me  what  you  think  of  it  first." 

She  told  him,  her  manner  unaffected.  The  song 
evidently  was  the  composition  of  a  young,  untrained 
musician — one  with  promise,  however. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lester. 

He  replaced  the  music  in  the  cabinet,  and  closing 
it,  touched  the  bell-button  near  by  on  the  wall. 
"Stir  up  the  fire,  Mawsby,"  he  directed  brusquely; 
"you're  letting  us  freeze  here." 

Miss  Raeburn  had  risen.  As  she  stood  by  the 
piano  drawing  the  scarf  over  her  shoulders,  Lester 
closed  the  lid,  his  lip  curled  again  with  one  of  his 
mocking  smiles.  But  the  smile  was  now  self-mock- 
ing. 

41 


The  Trap 

"I  wrote  that  song ;  I  was  twenty-five,  and  I  must 
have  been  in  love!"  A  laugh,  harsh  and  almost 
boisterous,  burst  from  him.  ''Take  my  word,  I'll 
never  be  fool  enough  to  write  another!" 

Silence  fell.  In  the  silence,  Ashe,  beside  the  fire, 
recrossed  his  slender,  graceful  legs,  peering  at  the 
host  from  under  his  grizzled  brows.  "Ah,  but  won't 
you?"  reflected  Ashe — "won't  you,  my  boy?" — for 
acutely,  with  no  lingering  doubt,  the  old  man  at  last 
had  grasped  the  solution  of  what  for  hours  had 
evaded  him — the  thing  that  had  happened  to  Lester. 

And  what  a  thing  it  was!  Lester,  the  self-ab- 
sorbed, the  sel f -centered !  The  man  was  not  only 
in  love  with  Miss  Raeburn,  he  was  head  over  heels 
in  love  and  half-frantic  with  it.  That  was  not  the 
point,  though.  It  was  why  he  did  not  marry  her 
and  be  done  with  it. 

Any  girl  like  her,  certainly,  would  jump  at  the 
chance  to  get  a  man  with  Lester's  wealth  and  posi- 
tion. 

But  Lester  hadn't  asked  her.  He  hadn't,  and 
Ashe  saw  he  hadn't. 

Why? 

"Mrs.  Dewitt's  motor,"  announced  Mawsby.  The 
lady  arose  with  alacrity.  The  brief  half  hour,  that 

42 


The  Trap 

interlude  of  music  in  the  library,  had  proved  the 
only  rift  in  what  had  been  a  burdensome  evening 
to  her;  she  fairly  hurried  to  get  away. 

"Good-night,  Harry,"  she  bade  the  host.  Then, 
in  a  level  voice  she  added:  "I  suppose  I  shan't  see 
you  soon  again." 

"What !  .  .  .  how  do  I  know  ?"  growled  Lester. 

Ashe  strolled  toward  the  door.  "I'll  see  you  to 
your  motor,  Fanny,"  he  said  quietly. 

Lester  went,  too,  sulking  on  behind. 

Outside  it  had  begun  to  rain;  and  opening  the 
door,  he  stood  in  the  vestibule  glowering  across  at 
the  park.  It  lay  there,  bleak  and  dingy,  the  rain,  a 
fine,  driving  mist,  lending  another  touch  of  forlorn- 
ness  to  both  the  Square  and  its  background  of  drab, 
shabby  buildings.  A  few  loungers,  the  homeless 
sort,  still  occupied  the  benches;  but  even  these,  one 
by  one,  were  leaving,  slinking  away  to  the  refuge 
of  doorways  and  cellar-openings  in  the  tenement 
district  beyond.  His  jaw  set,  Lester  stared  at  the 
park,  ignoring  Ashe  and  Mrs.  Dewitt. 

Already  the  departing  guest  had  slipped  into  her 
wraps.  As  Ashe  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass,  she 
halted,  then  cast  a  swift  glance  backward  toward  the 
library.  "What's  going  on?  Who  are  those  women, 

43 


The  Trap 

Mr.  Ashe?"  she  volleyed  at  him:  "What  are  they 
doing  here?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied. 

It  was  not  quite  the  truth,  he  had  a  guess,  at  any 
rate;  but  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  no  means  of  knowing 
this.  "What  do  you  think?"  she  demanded. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  Ashe  replied. 

This  time  it  was  the  truth — he  didn't;  the  prob- 
lem of  Mrs.  Steese  and  the  girl,  her  niece,  was  more 
than  he  could  fathom.  And  had  Ashe,  at  the  mo- 
ment, chanced  to  glance  into  the  library — seen  and 
heard  what  was  happening  there — he  would  have 
known  even  less,  too,  what  to  think  of  those  two 
guests. 

The  aunt,  her  voice  lowered,  was  speaking  ve- 
hemently. 

"Mind  now;  I've  kept  my  part  of  the  bargain — 
now  see  that  you  keep  yours !" 

The  girl's  face  was  colorless ;  she  shook  as  if  she 
were  a  little  cold. 

"I've  told  you  I  would,"  she  replied. 

"See  that  you  do,  then!"  retorted  the  aunt.  With 
a  bob  of  her  head,  her  eyes  hard  and  bright  behind 
her  glasses,  she  added :  "I  haven't  forgotten  Fawcett ; 

44 


The  Trap 

I  haven't  forgotten,  either,  the  fellow  at  Santa  Bar- 
bara— that  congressman,  Ban*.  Remember,  this 
time,  no  excuses  1" 

"Hush!"  warned  the  niece. 

Lester  was  coming  down  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  V 

HIS  eyes  restless,  Lester  trudged  into  the 
room,  the  floor  quaking  under  his  heavy 
tread.    "Where's  Mr.  Ashe?"  he  demand- 
ed crisply. 

Mawsby,  a  silent  shadow,  had  followed  his  master 
into  the  room;  and  was  making  a  pretense  of  stir- 
ring up  the  fire. 

"Mr.  Ashe  is  in  the  front  room,  sir,"  he  answered. 

The  girl  was  still  standing  beside  the  piano.  "I 
think  we  must  be  going,"  she  murmured,  her  aunt, 
at  the  speech,  glancing  at  her  sharply.  Lester  stirred 
impatiently.  "No,  you  can't  go  yet,"  he  said;  then 
he  turned  to  the  servant.  "Ask  Mr.  Ashe  to  wait," 
he  directed;  and  as  Mawsby  went  out,  Lester  shot 
a  covert  look  at  Miss  Raeburn.  She  had  gone  to 
the  fireplace;  and  her  eyes  lowered,  she  was  gazing 
at  the  glowing  coals.  "I  say,  Mrs.  Steese,"  Lester 
said  abruptly;  "if  you  mean  to  accept  that  invita- 
tion, you'd  better  catch  Mr.  Ashe  before  he  goes. 
He  may  wiggle  out  of  it,  if  you  don't!" 

46 


It  was  pretty  bald.  Miss  Raeburn,  her  eyes  widen- 
ing, cast  a  glance  at  him.  Mrs.  Steese,  however,  lost 
no  time  in  acquiescing.  Evidently,  she  was  quick 
to  guess  his  pretext,  Lester's  raw  subterfuge  to  get 
rid  of  her.  Exclaiming  gayly,  "Don't  worry,  he 
won't  escape  me !"  she  hurried  from  the  room. 

"Sit  down,  won't  you  ?"  asked  Lester. 

The  grin  lurking  on  his  jaw  at  Mrs.  Steese's  hur- 
ried exit  had  gone  now,  and  he  stirred  restlessly. 
The  girl  by  the  fireplace  seemed  to  sense  it,  too. 
Her  eyes  fell ;  she  drew  her  shoulders  together  as  if 
she  were  cold. 

"Thanks,"  she  murmured,  declining  the  chair  he 
offered ;  "I'll  stand,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Suit  yourself,"  mumbled  Lester. 

He  took  out  and  lit  another  cigarette,  at  the  same 
time  eying  her  furtively  from  under  his  heavy  lids.. 
The  match  he  blew  out  deliberately,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment gazed  at  its  expiring  ember.  "Funny,"  he  re- 
marked all  at  once,  "I  can  never  get  it  into  my  head 
Mrs.  Steese  is  your  aunt.  Your  mother's  sister,  too, 
you  told  me,  isn't  she?" 

"No,"  corrected  the  girl,  "my  mother  had  no 
sister." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Lester  nodded — "just  your  aunt 

47 


The  Trap 

by  marriage."  He  reached  over,  and  gripping  the 
fire  tongs  from  their  rack  began  aimlessly  to  prod 
the  coals.  "Then,  really,  she  has  no  claim  on  you, 
has  she?"  he  suggested. 

"Claim?"  echoed  the  girl. 

He  nodded  idly.  "Kinship — family  claims — that 
sort  of  thing?" 

His  back  was  to  her,  bent  forward  as  he  prodded 
at  the  cannel;  and  the  brown  eyes  wandered  slowly 
to  it,  widening. 

"One's  aunt  has  some  claim,  hasn't  she?"  she  an- 
swered slowly. 

He  gave  the  fire  another  jab. 

"Not  that  sort  of  claim — others,"  said  Lester,  de- 
liberately. 

There  was  a  pause.  Her  breath  held,  she  wet  her 
lips. 

"What  do  you  mean?    What  claims?"  she  asked. 

Lester  did  not  for  a  moment  reply.  The  tongs 
he  replaced  in  their  rack,  and  as  he  straightened  up 
his  figure  seemed  to  shake.  "Look  here,"  he  said, 
his  voice  breaking  curiously;  "what's  the  use  of 
mincing  words?  You  must  know  why  I  had  you 
here  to-night — why  I  wanted  you  here.  Be  frank, 
can't  you?  I've  been  straight  and  level  with  you. 

48 


The  Trap 

For  once — once  in  my  life,  anyway,  I've  done  that, 

and — and "  His  voice  broke  again,  and,  of  a 

sudden,  he  shook  to  his  feet.  "What's  the  use! 
.  .  .  Here!"  said  Lester;  and  his  face  white,  with 
unexpected  swiftness  he  thrust  out  both  his  arms  to 
her.  If  he  had  meant  to  enfold  her,  he  failed.  In- 
stantly, as  if  startled,  the  girl  shrank  back.  A  half- 
uttered  exclamation  left  her. 

It  was  very  quick.  The  next  moment,  as  if  con- 
scious of  having  rebuffed  him,  she  restrained  her- 
self. 

"No,  no — I  wasn't  thinking!"  she  exclaimed — 
"what  was  it?  You  were  saying  something!" 

Lester's  arms  had  dropped  quietly  to  his  sides. 

"Was  I?"  he  smiled.  The  smile  was  quiet  and 
repressed.  In  his  manner,  too,  was  a  hint  of  dig- 
nity, of  strength,  one  had  not  noted  in  him  before. 
"I  was  just  wondering,"  said  Lester,  "if  Mawsby 
had  called  your  cab." 

They  had  gone,  Miss  Raeburn  and  her  aunt. 
Ashe  too  was  going,  but  ere  he  went,  he  had  gone 
back  to  the  library.  Poker  in  hand,  Lester  was  again 
jabbing  at  the  coals.  Solemnly,  old  Ashe  regarded 
him  for  a  moment. 

49 


The  Trap 

"What's  happened,  Harry?"  he  asked. 

"Happened?"  Lester  replaced  the  poker  in  the 
rack,  and  rose.  "I  don't  know  that  anything's  hap- 
pened," he  returned. 

The  executor  waited  for  a  moment. 

"I'm  an  old  man,  Harry,"  he  said.  "I  was  your 
father's  friend,  and,  if  you'll  let  me,  I'll  be  yours. 
Do  you  mean  to  marry  Miss  Raeburn?" 

The  storm  broke  then. 

The  emotion  that  for  the  evening  had  seemed  to 
be  pent  up,  bottled  in  Lester's  frame,  burst  its 
bounds,  pouring  forth  as  if  something  had  broken 
within  him.  Ashe  hardly  was  prepared  for  the  con- 
sequence of  the  query  he  had  put.  "Marry  her? 
Marry  that  girl?  What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Lester, 
all  of  it  said  in  a  breath,  though  his  voice  did  not 
raise  itself  a  note.  "D'you  think  me  a  fool?"  A 
low  laugh  escaped  him.  "Marry  any  woman  like 
that!" 

Ashe  waited  till  the  outburst  had  spent  itself. 

"Is  there  a  reason  you  shouldn't?"  he  asked. 

"A  reason  ?"  Lester  stared  at  him,  his  face  white. 
"A  woman  that  doesn't  care  the  snap  of  her  fingers 
for  me?"  Ashe,  bewildered,  drew  his  brows  to- 
gether. 

50 


The  Trap 

"But  she'd  marry  you,  wouldn't  she?"  he  inquired. 

Sage,  worldly  wisdom,  this — or,  rather,  say  wise- 
ness  ;  but  its  effect  on  the  one  it  was  meant  to  com- 
fort hardly  was  what  Ashe  perhaps  expected. 

"Marry  me?"  echoed  Lester,  his  voice  for  the 
first  time  rising;  "yes,  but  do  you  think  I'd  let  her?" 
His  scorn,  too,  rose  with  his  voice.  "You  saw  for 
yourself,  didn't  you,  what  she  wants  of  me?  All 
she  wants  is  my  money — she  and  that  woman,  Mrs. 
Steese!  I'll  admit  I  was  fooled  at  once,  at  first  I 
thought  she  cared  for  me.  .  .  .  For  me,  pshaw!" 
His  contempt  was  sweeping.  "She'd  marry  any  one 
who  could  give  her  what  she  wants — any  one,  you 
hear  me! — so  long  as  she  got  what  she  is  after! 
.  .  .  Marry  her?  You  must  think  I'm  daft!" 

Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  roughly. 

"I'll  show  her !"  said  Lester  thickly. 

"You'll  do  what?"  inquired  Ashe. 

Lester  turned  away  impatiently. 

"Never  you  mind!"  he  answered. 

Ashe  did  not  tarry.  The  thing,  after  all,  was  no 
affair  of  his.  "Good  night,  Harry,"  he  said  quietly ; 
and  he  was  halfway  down  the  hall  where  Mawsby 
waited,  when  he  heard  Lester  hurrying  after  him. 
The  fire  had  gone  from  his  eyes ;  he  looked  contrite 

51 


The  Trap 

and  humble.  "I'm  sorry/'  said  Lester — "you're  the 
best,  the  only  real  friend  I've  had,  and  I've  given 
you  a  beastly  evening.  Forgive  me,  won't  you?" 

Ashe  was  touched. 

"Of  course,  my  boy,"  he  answered — "I'd  forgive 
my  old  friend's  son  anything."  Then  he  seemed  to 
reflect.  ".  .  .  almost,"  added  Ashe. 

Out  on  the  steps  he  turned. 

"You  won't  do  anything  queer,  will  you  ?"  Queer- 
ness  was  a  thing  he  had  no  patience  with,  especially 
among  gentlemen;  and  he  was  about  to  add  this 
when  he  saw  the  door  slowly  close. 

Lester  had  not  waited.  The  moment  Ashe  was 
on  the  steps,  a  new  energy  seemed  to  animate  him. 
He  closed  the  door  and  turned.  Mawsby  stood  there 
waiting.  Mawsby  was  looking  at  him  steadily. 

Lester  gripped  his  lips  together. 

"You  remember  what  I  told  you?"  he  asked. 

The  servant  seemed  instantly  to  comprehend. 

"Yes,  sir — perfectly,  sir.  I've  already  had  a  look 
at  them." 

"You  think  you  can  pick  the  right  one,  no  mis- 
take?" demanded  Lester. 

"Yes,  sir.    Quite  sure,  sir." 
52 


The  Trap 

"All  right,  then;  go  out  and  get  him,"  directed 
Lester — "I'll  look  him  over  now." 

A  few  minutes  later,  not  more  than  ten  at  the 
most,  the  manservant's  quick,  catlike  footfall  came 
clattering  along  the  passage  toward  the  library.  Be- 
hind him  echoed  the  footfall  of  another  person — a 
man's  footfall  that  scuffled  and  scraped  along  the 
hall's  polished  hardwood  surface,  sounding  curiously 
as  it  plodded  toward  the  library  door. 

Inside,  at  his  desk,  Lester  sat  waiting. 


CHAPTER  VI 

last  guest  had  gone;  the  caterers  had 
followed.  Their  wagon  returning,  the  two 

JL  had  loaded  themselves  and  their  hampers 
aboard,  then  departed;  even  the  basement  caretaker, 
too,  had  flitted;  and  the  big,  dim  dwelling,  its  mo- 
mentary activity  stilled,  once  more  had  relapsed  into 
its  former  tomblike  quiet.  The  evening,  that  un- 
usual occasion  in  Fitzhugh  Square,  had  ended. 

Unusual,  indeed!  .  .  . 

Midnight  had  struck.  The  police  patrol,  issuing 
from  its  house  in  a  side  street  off  the  park,  already 
was  relieving  the  men  on  the  nearby  posts ;  the  man 
whose  beat  was  the  park  strolled  along  the  paths, 
his  black  raincoat  glistening  with  the  rain  that  still 
fell,  a  drifting  mist.  At  his  approach,  the  last  night- 
birds,  a  scant  half  dozen  now,  slouched  away.  Down 
the  block  a  second  officer  made  his  way  along  the 
line  of  dim,  silent  houses  that  formed  the  row,  going 
from  area  to  area,  trying  each  basement  door.  The 
vast  double-dwelling  halfway  along  the  row  was,  to 

54 


The  Trap 

all  intents,  unoccupied;  but  after  a  glance  at  its 
shuttered  front,  the  policeman  trudged  down  into 
the  areaway,  and  gave  the  bell  a  twitch. 

A  servant — a  man — appeared.  In  the  dim  light 
of  the  electric  arcs  across  the  park  the  policeman 
peered  at  him  closely. 

"What's  the  trouble,  officer?"  inquired  Mawsby. 

No  trouble  at  all.  Recognizing  the  servant,  the 
policeman  grunted  he  had  seen  a  light  upstairs  be- 
hind the  shutters. 

"Master  home?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  but  we're  going  again  to-night,"  answered 
Mawsby. 

The  policeman  gave  another  grunt.  "Rotten  night 
to  be  running  round,"  he  commented;  and  Mawsby 
nodded. 

"You  may  say  so,  indeed,"  he  agreed. 

The  policeman  mumbled  a  good  night;  and  after 
a  glance  up  and  down  the  street,  Mawsby  closed  the 
door.  The  rain  was  falling  faster  now. 

A  clock,  slightly  belated,  again  struck  the  hour — 
Twelve!  Upstairs  a  door  opened,  its  hinges  creak- 
ing. 

It  was  Lester  who  appeared.  Mawsby  was  just 
mounting  the  stairs  from  the  basement,  and  as  he 

55 


The  Trap 

saw  his  master  he  paused.  "I  'phoned  the  garage, 
sir.  They  will  have  a  car  here  presently." 

"You  telephoned  Butes,  too?"  asked  Lester. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  got  Butes  himself  on  the  wire.  The 
house  will  be  open,  the  fires  going,  sir,  by  the  time 
we  get  there.  The  roads  are  very  bad,  though,  sir." 

Lester  did  not  seem  to  be  concerned  with  their 
condition,  whatever  the  roads  were  or  where  they 
led.  "Has  Mac  Nim  gone  yet  ?"  he  inquired. 

Mrs.  Mac  Nim  was  the  caretaker.  She  had  gone, 
yes.  "I  got  her  away  an  hour  ago,  sir,"  Mawsby 
was  saying  when  a  flaw  of  rain  fell  hissing  on  the 
shuttered  windows,  filling  the  house  with  whisper- 
ing sounds.  Lester  hearkened  to  it  a  moment. 

He  looked  haggard,  weary.  His  shoulders  were 
sunk,  there  were  drawn  lines  about  his  eyes  and 
mouth.  "You  got  a  cab  for  Mrs.  Mac  Nim,  didn't 
you?"  he  murmured.  "You  saw  to  it  she  didn't  go 
afoot?" 

Mawsby  said  yes.  A  cab  had  taken  Mrs.  Mac 
Nim ;  she  had  gone  to  her  daughter's  for  the  night ; 
and  as  Mawsby  said  this,  a  subdued  smile  for  an 
instant  relieved  his  usual  grave  solemnity.  "She 
thought  it,  you  may  say,  sir,  sudden — sudden  even 
for  a  vacation.  She  wished  to  wait  till  morning. 

56 


The  Trap 

But  I  got  her  off,  I  got  her  off,  sir.  She  suspects 
nothing,  I  may  say." 

"Are  my  bags  repacked?"  asked  Lester;  and  in- 
stantly, Mawsby  was  again  the  grave,  deferent  man- 
servant. 

"Everything's  ready,  sir.  All  your  orders  I  have 
carried  out." 

"Thank  you,  Mawsby,"  returned  Lester. 

He  was  halfway  to  the  stairs  when  he  paused, 
his  glance  returning  to  the  man.  "Mawsby,  how 
long  have  you  been  with  me?"  he  asked. 

The  manservant  considered.  "Sixteen  years,  sir 
— lacking  a  month  and  a  fortnight.  I  came  to  you 
of  a  June,  sir,  you  remember." 

Lester  remembered. 

"You  have  been  faithful,  Mawsby." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  returned  Mawsby.  "I  try  to 
give  satisfaction,  sir." 

"You  have  given  more  than  satisfaction,"  said  his 
master;  "you  have  given  me  loyalty,  the  kind,  too, 
that  cannot  be  had  for  pay.  I  have  wondered  why." 

"Sir !"  said  Mawsby. 

His  pallid  face  had  colored  suddenly,  and  em- 
barrassed, his  eyes  fell. 

"You  see,"  said  Lester,  "I  have  not  paid  you  for 
57 


The  Trap 

that — it  could  not  be  paid  for;  and  I  have  been 
puzzled.  It  is  unexpected  to  have  things  done  for 
which  I  have  not  paid;  I  cannot  understand  it!" 

The  hatrack  beside  which  he  stood  was  no  stiffer 
than  the  manservant  now  had  become.  "Have  you 
any  orders,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"No, — no  orders,  Mawsby.  ...  I  can't  under- 
stand it,  though,"  said  Lester,  speaking  as  if  he  were 
saying  it  to  himself.  "No,  no  orders,  Mawsby." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mawsby. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  returned  Lester. 

"Very  good,  sir — thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the 
valet;  and  Lester,  his  chin  on  his  breast,  trudged 
slowly  up  the  stairs. 

The  hall  above  was  lighted  by  a  single  gas  jet, 
an  illumination  hardly  enough  to  show  the  way; 
but  the  room,  the  hall,  too,  that  led  to  it  were  long 
familiar  to  Lester — so  familiar  that  he  could  have 
walked  to  it  in  the  dark.  It  was  in  that  room  he 
had  been  born;  it  was  the  same  room  where  his 
father  too  had  first  seen  the  light  of  day — where, 
at  the  end,  his  eyes  had  closed  forever  to  that  light. 
Now,  Lester  occupied  the  deep,  high-walled  cham- 
ber, sleeping  there  when  he  was  at  home. 

Opening  the  door,  he  stepped  inside. 

58 


The  Trap 

A  shaded  lamp  stood  upon  the  center-table;  and 
by  the  table  was  a  chair  in  which  sat  a  huddled  fig- 
ure, a  man.  In  contrast  with  the  chair's  bigness — 
it  was  Lester's  chair — the  man  seemed  slight,  even4 
small;  still  he  was  neither  under-sized  nor  in  any 
way  slight;  it  was  his  clothes  that  gave  him  this 
appearance.  They  were  Lester's  clothes,  not  his. 
The  clothes  he  had  worn  when  he  entered  lay  in  a 
heap  on  the  floor;  and  under  them,  the  precaution 
not  unnecessary,  the  cautious  Mawsby  had  spread 
an  opened  newspaper. 

The  less  said  of  the  clothes  the  better.  In  the 
room  fitted,  as  it  was,  with  the  elegance  of  wealth, 
each  an  evidence  of  luxurious  choice  and  comfort, 
the  look  of  that  discarded  heap  of  apparel  was  more 
incongruous  than  even  the  look  of  their  former 
wearer.  The  impression  they  gave  was  as  if  they 
had  been  dwelt  in  as  a  castaway  would  have  dwelt 
in  a  hut  created  from  wreckage  thrown  upon  the 
beach — lived  in — slept  in,  too — while  the  castaway, 
cut  off  from  the  world  and  his  hope  long  dead,  made 
a  mere  shift  of  existence.  Rags,  grime,  remnants — 
those  clothes.  Beside  them,  equally  eloquent,  lay 
the  memoirs  of  what  once  had  been  a  pair  of  shoes. 

"Ready?"  inquired  Lester. 

59 


The  Trap 

The  man  in  the  chair  lifted  himself  from  its 
depths.  He,  too,  was  young — younger  even  than 
Lester;  and  but  for  his  pale  features,  more  gaunt 
and  pale  now  that  he  had  been  newly  shaved,  he 
might  have  been  good-looking.  "We're  going?"  he 
inquired. 

Lester  nodded.  He  glanced  at  the  table  on  which 
stood  a  tray.  "You've  had  food  ?"  he  asked. 

The  man's  eyes  gleamed  gratefully.  "Food? 
Yes!"  He  gave  a  laugh,  thick,  discordant.  "You 
can't  guess  what  it  means  to  get  food  like  that  into 
me.  I'd  hate  to  tell  you  when  I  had  it  last.  I'd 
hate  to  say,  too,  when  last  I  had  a  silver  fork  in  my 
hand — real  silver!" 

Lester  gazed  at  him  fixedly. 

"You're  still  sure  you  want  to  go  through  with 
this?"  he  inquired;  and  the  other  laughed  again. 

"Don't  worry !  Didn't  I  tell  you  I'd  do  anything 
for  food,  for  money?"  This  time  he  didn't  laugh. 
The  tone,  too,  in  which  the  speech  was  said  rang 
with  an  implication  of  self-scorn,  self -derision. 
"That's  not  the  point,  though,"  he  added— "I'd  sell 
my  soul  to  get  on  my  feet  again — to  get  back  again 
even  a  rag  of  my  self-respect!" 

Lester  smiled  briefly. 

60 


The  Trap 

"Out  in  the  park  there,"  he  observed  dryly,  "I 
dare  say  there  are  many  like  you  who  would." 

"Many?"  the  other  inquired.  Again  he  laughed. 
"I  could  point  you  out  a  thousand  any  evening." 

The  guaranty  seemed  mildly  to  interest  Lester. 

"Men  like  you?  .  .  .  once  gentlemen?"  he  inter- 
rogated, and  the  man  shot  a  glance  at  him. 

"Gentlemen?  .  .  .  You  must  think  I've  been 
one!"  he  retorted;  and  Lester  smiled  anew,  still 
dryly  as  before. 

"I  have  the  word  of  an  authority  I  would  not  dis- 
pute— my  valet,"  he  gravely  returned;  and  the  man 
.  grunted. 

"Is  that  why  you  sent  him  grubbing  among  the 
park  benches,  hunting  the  one  you  wanted?" 

"It  was,"  replied  Lester. 

The  fact  did  not  apparently  inflate  the  other's  self- 
esteem.  "I  can  tell  you  this,"  he  said  slowly;  "I 
may  never  have  been  a  gentleman,  but  once  I  was 
like  you !  Do  you  get  that  ?  .  .  .  Money  I  had,  and 
I  had  good  clothes,  good  food,  good  acquaintances. 
The  same  things  you  have,  I  had  too;  the  same 
thing  you  are,  I  was  too ;  and,  as  I've  said,  I'd  give 
my  soul  to  have  it  back  again !" 

"Well,"  Lester  returned  genially,  "let's  not  dis- 
61 


The  Trap 

cuss  it  further — this  question  of  who's  who.  I  have 
Mawsby's  word  for  it  that  you've  been  one — been 
a  gentleman;  but  his  opinion  of  myself,  I  haven't 
had — I've  never  dared  to  ask  it.  The  point,  though, 
is  that  you're  the  man  I  need.  Are  you  sure  you're 
ready  to  go  through  with  it?" 

The  man's  eyes  fixed  themselves  sullenly  on  Les- 
ter. 

"Haven't  I  said  I  would!"  he  growled  thickly. 
"Don't  fret,"  he  added,  as  Lester  stirred  himself, 
making  ready  to  depart ;  "I  ask  nothing  better  than 
to  see  this  through!  I'll  do  it,  never  fear!" 

"Thank  you,  I  believe  you  will,"  said  Lester,  add- 
ing then:  "I  remember  it  was  a  woman,  you  told 
me,  who'd  ruined  you." 

Again  in  his  voice  was  a  veiled  mockery.  Again 
his  smile  was  subtly  derisive.  In  silence  he  stalked 
down  the  stairway,  got  into  the  coat  Mawsby  held 
for  him,  and  walked  out  into  the  rain.  The  other 
followed ;  and,  opening  the  door  of  the  car  outside, 
Lester  waved  him  to  get  in. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  car's  chauffeur. 

"Drive  to  Ferncliffe,"  he  directed. 


1 


CHAPTER  VII 

house  at  Ferncliffe,  Lester's  country 
place  halfway  up  the  Hudson,  was  an- 
other of  those  relics  of  a  time  when  size 
and  pretentiousness  were  more  the  object  perhaps 
than  mere  fitness  or  any  convenience  of  the  tenants. 
Immensity  appeared  the  architect's  one  idea.  To  this 
purpose,  having  had  unlimited  money  placed  at  his 
disposal,  the  designer  seems  to  have  run  the  gamut 
of  all  that  conveys  magnitude,  for  not  only  the  house 
but  all  the  other  buildings — stables,  lodge,  barns, 
greenhouses  and  dairy — had  been  laid  out  in  that 
one  key.  Five  hundred  acres  of  the  choicest  upland 
surrounded  it. 

The  upkeep  of  such  an  estate  may  be  conjectured. 
A  small  army  of  laborers  was  employed  about  the 
grounds;  the  wide  sweep  of  lawns,  always  of  a 
velvety  texture,  supported  a  retinue  of  their  own; 
the  greenhouses,  the  gardens  and  the  orchards  re- 
quired another;  in  addition,  there  were  the  hands 
employed  in  the  stables  and  dairy — the  lodge-keeper 

63 


The  Trap 

and  his  family  as  well.  Of  all  these  Butes  had 
charge.  Mr.  Butes  had  been  butler  to  Lester,  Senior; 
he  was  now  major  domo  at  Ferncliffe,  though  at 
such  times  as  the  house  was  opened  he  resumed  his 
former  office.  This,  however,  was  infrequently. 
Ferncliffe  was  seldom  occupied. 

It  may  seem  strange,  perhaps,  that  with  an  estate 
so  magnificent  and  one  that  required  so  much  ex- 
pense to  maintain,  the  proprietor  should  find  so  lit- 
tle use  for  it;  but  somehow  Lester  did  not  care  for 
Ferncliffe.  A  man  who  avoided  show,  he  wearied, 
perhaps  of  its  immensity.  Nor  did  the  estate  ap- 
pear to  him  as  beautiful.  He  visited  it,  in  fact,  so 
infrequently  that  the  neighborhood  wondered  he  did 
not  dispose  of  it. 

Butes  lived  in  dread  of  this.  The  place  was  a 
fat  berth  for  the  former  butler;  and  in  an  agony 
of  apprehension,  he  once  had  given  tongue  to  his 
fears.  It  was  to  Ashe  he'd  spoken.  "Strike  me, 
sir!"  said  Butes,  casting  discretion  and  most  of  his 
h's  to  the  winds;  "Mr.  'Arry  'ates  it  'ere,  I  believe! 
'Ed  sell  if  'e  gets  an  offer,  I'll  wager!"  But  Ashe 
knew  different;  and  what  he  knew  was,  curiously, 
another  hint  of  Lester's  complex  nature.  The  estate 
had  been  his  father's  hobby ;  it  was  to  him  a  sort  of 

64 


The  Trap 

monument;  and  Lester's  loyalty  to  his  departed 
parent  was  not  of  any  ordinary  kind.  He  and  his 
father  had  been  inseparable;  and  after  the  father's 
death  there  had  been  something  pathetic  in  the  lone- 
liness, the  solitude  in  which  the  son  had  mourned. 
If  he  had  not  sold  Ferncliffe,  however,  he  still  had 
avoided  it.  The  place,  like  his  town  house,  stood 
vacant  for  long  periods,  the  servants  with  the  full 
run  of  it,  the  gates  closed  and  house  and  grounds 
consuming  in  wages,  taxes  and  repairs  thousands 
a  year  for  which  the  owner  had  no  apparent  return. 

But  now  Ferncliffe  was  opened  and  occupied. 

The  pitchblack  darkness  of  a  night  of  storm — of 
flaws  of  rain  and  a  gale  that  gusted  among  the  elms 
and  beeches — was  deepest  in  its  gloom  when  the 
motor  chartered  at  a  city  garage  came  splashing  up 
the  drive,  mudstreaked  and  dripping  as  it  halted  un- 
der the  porte  cochere.  Butes,  up  and  waiting,  sprang 
to  open  the  door. 

In  the  hour  his  master  had  chosen  to  arrive  the 
butler  saw  nothing  unusual — at  any  rate,  unwonted. 
Lester's  uneasy  habits  were  long  known  to  him ;  be- 
sides, as  Lester  alighted,  he  was  at  pains  to  explain 
himself.  "Sorry  to  keep  you  up,  Butes;  I  was  de- 
tained in  town."  But  Butes  was  too  delighted  to  feel 

65 


The  Trap 

the  inconvenience.  As  he  bustled  about,  his  pink, 
chubby  face  aglow,  he  protested  vehemently,  "I'd 
wait  up  the  night,  Mr.  'Any,  any  time  to  have  you 
'ere."  He  meant  it,  too,  not  all  of  it  quite  self- 
interest,  either.  Queer,  but  most  of  Lester's  de- 
pendents showed  that  devotion. 

Mawsby,  descending  from  the  front  seat,  was  al- 
ready handing  out  the  bags,  and  Butes  stirred  him- 
self to  help.  "Mawsby  tells  me,  sir,  you'll  be  'ere 
for  a  month.  'E  says  as  we're  to  have  guests !"  bub- 
bled Butes.  Lester  nodded.  He  still  was  standing 
beside  the  car,  the  rain  streaking  in  under  the  porte 
cochere  falling  unheeded  on  his  back  and  shoulders ; 
but  as  Butes  rattled  on,  fussy  in  his  excitement,  the 
master  beckoned  to  Mawsby.  "Lend  me  a  hand 
here,"  he  directed.  Inside  the  car  was  a  figure  hud- 
dled in  the  folds  of  a  huge  fur  coat.  The  coat  was 
one  of  Lester's ;  and  engulfed  in  its  bigness,  the  man 
within  seemed  to  have  collapsed.  Inertly,  he  suffered 
himself  to  be  half  led,  half  carried  within  doors. 
There  he  was  guided  up  the  stairs  to  a  room  nearby 
Lester's,  Butes  agape  and  his  eyes  protruding,  fol- 
lowing at  the  heels  of  the  procession.  So  Ferndiffe 
had  been  reopened.  So,  too,  had  its  master  re- 
turned, bringing  with  him  the  first  of  his  guests. 

66 


The  Trap 

Of  that  guest,  though,  Butes  saw  little  the  next  few 
succeeding  days.  Nor  did  he  see  his  master  either. 
The  day  following  Lester  departed  for  the  city,  leav- 
ing Mawsby  in  charge  of  that  other,  the  guest 
mured  in  the  upstairs  room.  "Indisposed,"  ex- 
plained the  ready  Mawsby — "off  his  chump,  Mr. 
Butes."  But  the  fifth  day,  succeeding  the  arrival  of 
several  trunks,  all  new — these  as  well  as  a  number 
of  express  parcels  of  divers  sizes  and  shapes — Butes 
had  a  second  glimpse  of  the  visitor.  Attired  in 
smart  tweeds — a  skirted  shooting  coat  and  short 
trousers,  the  both  fitting  to  a  T,  Butes  beheld  him 
wandering  along  the  aisles  of  the  greenhouse. 

"You're  better,  I  'ope,  sir?"  Butes  inquired  solicit- 
ously. 

The  guest  smiled  pleasantly.  "Thank  you,  yes." 
He  reached  over,  and  with  his  fingers — slender  fin- 
gers, frail  and  delicate,  it  seemed  to  Butes — he  sep- 
arated a  rose  from  the  cluster  of  buds  and  leaves 
about  it.  "Wonderful,  your  Gloire  de  Dijons"  he 
remarked.  They  were,  indeed;  and  Butes  was  ex- 
patiating on  the  prizes  the  same  roses  had  won  when 
the  guest  smiled.  "No  need  to  tell  me;  I  grew  them 
myself  once  for  prizes — not  so  fine  as  these,  though." 

Butes,  charmed  by  the  guest's  urbanity,  volun- 
67 


The  Trap 

teered  to  show  him  the  place.  Together  they  ram- 
bled over  the  grounds,  the  guest's  eye  quick  to  esti- 
mate, to  appreciate,  the  finer  points  of  it  all — the 
blooded  cattle,  all  registered  Ayrshire  stock;  the 
field  of  sheep,  imported  Shropshires;  the  barnful  of 
heavy  draught  horses,  Flemings  of  the  finest  type — 
these  and  the  stalls  of  lighter,  springier  animals,  the 
dozen  or  more  riding  and  driving  horses  reserved 
for  Lester's  own  use.  A  big,  rangey  roan,  well  up 
even  to  Lester's  heavy  weight,  the  guest  admired  es- 
pecially. "I'd  like  to  put  him  a  few  times  over  the 
bars,"  he  remarked  to  the  head  stableman,  adding: 
"I'd  do  it  now  if  my  legs  weren't  so  wobbly."  The 
stableman  bowed  him  out  delightedly.  "Knows 
horses,  that  gentleman !"  he  confined  to  his  assistant 
— "see  the  way  he  picked  Hector  out  of  the  lot! 
Only  gave  him  a  look,  too!" 

The  extent  of  the  guest's  discrimination  did  not 
end  with  this.  That  night,  smart  in  dinner  clothes, 
he  appeared  downstairs  at  dinner;  and  in  honor  of 
the  event,  Butes  placed  at  his  elbow  a  decanter.  The 
guest  took  a  single  sip  of  the  amber,  crystal  liquid 
in  it,  then  looked  up  swiftly. 

"Reckless,  aren't  you  ?"  he  smiled  at  Butes. 

"Sir?"  inquired  the  butler. 
68 


The  Trap 

"This  Madeira  can't  be  less  than  thirty-five  years 
in  the  wood,"  he  remarked.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it 
was  forty.  "Do  you  hand  this  out  to  every  one?" 
he  inquired. 

"Indeed  not,  sir,"  Butes  replied  flatly — "it  goes 
only  to  them  as  appreciates." 

"Thank  you,  Butes,"  smiled  Mr.  Hastings,  the 
guest. 

Butes  was  charmed  with  him.  To  have  even  one 
guest  in  the  long  deserted  establishment  was  itself 
a  pleasure  to  the  butler,  but  to  have  one  so  appre- 
ciative and  discriminating  added  to  his  joy.  The 
time  seemed  to  savor  of  old  days  when  Lester, 
Senior,  kept  open  house  for  his  hosts  of  friends  in 
the  city.  However,  Ferncliffe  was  soon  again  to  be 
filled.  The  end  of  the  week  would  see  other  guests 
arriving — Ferncliffe  alive  with  life  and  sound  again. 
The  butler,  meanwhile,  spared  no  effort  toward  mak- 
ing the  event  memorable. 

Butes,  it  appeared,  though,  was  not  alone  in  look- 
ing on  the  occasion  as  eventful.  The  opinion  was 
shared  by  others — one  in  particular — the  person  in 
question  one  among  the  coming  guests. 

Half -past  five  was  striking  on  the  city  clocks  when 
a  Fifth  Avenue  bus,  bound  north,  stopped  at  the 

69 


The  Trap 

corner  of  a  street  uptown,  and  let  out  Sally  Rae- 
burn.  Ordinarily,  in  her  journeys  about  the  dis- 
trict, Miss  Raeburn  was  wont  to  walk,  her  aunt, 
Mrs.  Steese,  being  of  the  opinion  that  exercise  was 
beneficial  for  the  young.  At  the  moment,  though, 
the  niece  was  in  haste.  To-morrow  she  and  Mrs. 
Steese  were  leaving  for  Ferncliffe ;  and  having  been 
out  all  the  afternoon  running  errands  for  her  aunt, 
she  had  still  to  pack  her  belongings. 

She  looked  charming.  The  spring  air,  in  its 
briskness,  had  heightened  her  fresh,  vigorous  color; 
and  as  she  hastened  along — her  alert,  boylike  fig- 
ure trim  in  a  cloth  dress  and  furs — more  than  one 
passerby  turned  to  glance  after  her. 

The  hotel  was  in  a  side  street  off  the  Avenue.  The 
place,  one  of  the  many  in  the  neighborhood,  was 
reasonably  modern  and  convenient,  though  it  hardly 
could  be  termed  exclusive.  Neither  was  the  suite 
Mrs.  Steese  and  her  niece  occupied  what  one  would 
deem  smart  for  a  lady  presumably  so  well-to-do  as 
the  aunt.  It  comprised  a  bedroom,  bath  and  sitting- 
room,  the  aunt  occupying  the  bedroom  and  her  niece 
at  night  using  the  sitting-room.  But  then  Mrs. 
Steese  was  not  given  to  what  she  considered  useless 
expenditures ;  thrift  was  seemingly  a  virtue  with  her. 

70 


The  Trap 

However,  Miss  Raeburn  having  entered  the  hotel, 
hurried  along  the  lobby  to  the  desk.  "Have  I 'any 
mail?"  she  asked. 

During  her  week's  stay  not  any  had  come  for 
Miss  Raeburn;  but  just  the  same,  after  her  first 
night  at  the  hotel,  Miss  Raeburn  had  asked  the  ques- 
tion regularly.  It  appeared  now  the  luck  had 
changed. 

The  clerk  took  from  a  pigeonhole  a  square,  white 
envelope.  "A  messenger  left  this  a  few  minutes  ago : 
I  was  just  going  to  send  it  up,"  he  remarked;  and 
taking  the  note  Miss  Raeburn  hurried  to  the  elevator. 
Her  color  had  heightened  momentarily. 

The  note,  however,  she  did  not  open  as  the  lift 
bore  her  upward.  It  was  still  in  her  hand  as  she 
reached  the  door  of  Mrs.  Steese's  sitting-room. 

Inside,  Mrs.  Steese  could  be  heard  stirring  to  and 
fro.  Her  animation  seemed,  in  fact,  unwonted  even 
for  her.  As  Miss  Raeburn  knocked,  a  trunk-lid  was 
slammed  down;  there  was  the  sound  of  a  drawer 
being  shut  vigorously ;  and  the  aunt's  footsteps  could 
be  heard  tracking  to  and  fro.  These  evidences, 
however,  came  from  the  bedroom  at  the  back;  and 
as  Mrs.  Steese  seemed  not  to  have  heard  the  niece's 
quiet  knock  at  the  door,  the  niece  knocked  again. 

71 


The  Trap 

Instantly  there  was  a  pause. 

Beyond  the  door  all  sound  ceased.  Quiet  fell,  a 
moment  of  silence  as  if  the  aunt,  startled,  stood  lis- 
tening. The  next  moment  she  could  be  heard  cross- 
ing the  floor.  "Who's  there  ?"  she  called. 

"It's  I— Sally,"  the  niece  replied.  Then  the  door 
was  opened. 

Mrs.  Steese  was  in  dishabille.  A  Canton-flannel 
wrapper  garbed  her,  while  about  her  hair  was 
wrapped  a  towel.  That  it  was  not  just  to  her  looks, 
though,  that  her  delay  in  opening  the  door  was  due, 
was  apparent.  The  niece,  too,  had  no  sooner  en- 
tered than  Mrs.  Steese  closed  the  door  and  again 
locked  it. 

She  was  breathing  rapidly.  The  room,  besides, 
was  in  confusion — chairs  awry,  table  and  bureau  in 
disorder,  the  sofa  crowded  with  handbags  already 
completely  packed.  The  room  as  well  as  the  bed- 
chamber beyond  had  the  appearance  of  imminent  de- 
parture. 

"Why,  what  is  it?"  breathed  the  girl. 

The  aunt  had  begun  to  remove  her  wrapper. 

"Don't  take  off  your  hat;  we're  going,  leaving 
here !"  she  answered  hurriedly ;  and  the  other  gazed 
at  her  in  wonder. 

72 


The  Trap 

"To-night?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Right  now !"  was  the  response — "we're  leaving 
as  soon  as  we  can  get  out !"  She  had  removed  her 
wrapper  as  she  spoke;  and  now,  stuffing  it  into  a 
bag  she  had  reopened  hastily,  she  snatched  up  a  dress 
from  the  sofa.  "Shut  that  bag  and  lock  it!"  she 
directed. 

The  girl,  in  bewilderment,  made  no  move. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Steese  was  fumbling  hurriedly  with  her 
dress-fastenings. 

"Plenty's  happened!  ...  do  as  I  tell  you,"  she 
ordered ;  and  the  niece  went  slowly  to  the  sofa  where, 
as  mechanically,  she  closed  the  bag  and  fastened  it. 
The  aunt  gave  a  movement  of  irritation.  "If  you'd 
been  home,  'stead  of  gadding  around  all  the  after- 
noon, I  might  have  been  spared  this!" 

"I  wasn't  gadding  around,"  replied  the  girl  quietly. 
"I  was  doing  the  errands  you  gave  me." 

An  unintelligible  murmur  was  the  aunt's  only  re- 
sponse. Having  finished  fastening  her  dress  she 
snatched  up  a  hat  from  the  lounge,  her  niece  con- 
tinuing to  gaze  at  her.  "Has  any  one  been  here?" 
she  asked. 

The  aunt  once  more  gave  her  shoulders  a  shrug. 
73 


The  Trap 

"Never  mind  who's  been  herel" 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me,"  the  niece  persisted — -"was 
it  Mr.  Lester?  Any  one  from  him?" 

"No,"  snapped  Mrs.  Steese. 

"We're  going  there  to-morrow,  then?"  asked  the 
niece. 

"Yes." 

The  girl  drew  in  her  breath. 

"Then  he  hasn't  heard  anything?"  she  said. 

The  aunt  was  before  the  glass  giving  her  hat  a 
final  jab.  At  the  speech  she  looked  around.  "You 
seem  pretty  interested,  for  a  wonder,  about  Lester. 
I  hope  you've  come  to  your  senses,"  she  remarked. 
As  the  niece  made  no  reply,  she  shot  another  look 
at  her.  "I  wouldn't  wonder  if  you're  even  glad  to 
go  to  Ferncliffe." 

"Glad?"  echoed  the  girl. 

"Why  not?"  retorted  the  aunt. 

Her  niece  gazed  at  her  quietly.  "I  don't  know 
anything  I  dread  more,"  she  said  slowly;  and  the 
aunt  turned  swiftly.  "What's  that?"  she  ejaculated; 
and  the  girl's  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  hers,  their 
air  quiet. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  dread  it?  You  know  why  we're 
going  there,"  she  replied. 

74 


The  Trap 

The  aunt  came  a  step  toward  her.  "Look  here 
now,  what  really  happened  the  night  we  were  at  his 
house?  I  want  to  know,  d'you  hear !"  Her  air  was 
vehement.  "If  you're  hiding  anything  from  me, 
you'd  better  own  up  now.  You  can't  trifle  with 
me!" 

"Nothing  happened — I've  told  you  a  dozen  times," 
answered  the  niece. 

"He  didn't  ask  you  to  marry  him?" 

"No." 

"Did  he  hint  at  it?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean!  .  .  .  take  your  hand 
.  .  .  try  to  kiss  you  .  .  .  anything  like  that?" 

The  color  flamed  into  the  niece's  face,  then  faded, 
leaving  her  pale. 

"No,  certainly  not." 

"Well,  something  did  happen,  I'm  sure  of  that! 
Just  what  was  it  that  took  place?" 

The  girl  moved  restlessly,  wearily.  "I  don't 
know — not  exactly.  I  was  too  confused,  too  fear- 
ful," she  answered ;  and  the  aunt's  eyes  leaped. 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed — "something  did  happen, 
then?  He  made  up  to  you,  and  you,  I  suppose,  did 
just  what  you  did  with  Fawcett — with  that  fellow, 

75 


The  Trap 

too — the  congressman,  Barr?  Is  that  it?  You 
scared  him  off,  I  suppose !" 

"Please,  please!"  murmured  her  niece. 

But  Mrs.  Steese  was  not  to  be  stopped. 

"I  see  now  what  happened !  He  tried  to  kiss  you, 
take  you  in  his  arms,  and  you  shrank  away  from 
him!  ...  Oh,  you  can't  fool  me,  young  lady!  I 
was  watching,  looking  on,  though  you  don't  know  it, 
that  other  time,  the  time  Barr  was  getting  ready  to 
ask  you!  He  had  money,  a  million;  and  just  be- 
cause you  didn't  love  him — love  him,  pshaw!  or 
think  you  didn't!"  continued  Mrs.  Steese,  her  scorn 
conclusive — "you  let  him  see  it!  Is  that  what  you 
did  to  Lester,  too?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  her  niece  wearily. 

"You  don't  know?"  the  aunt  mocked — "yes,  you 
do,  if  only  you  wished  to  own  up  to  it!"  Again 
she  gave  her  expressive  shoulders  a  shrug.  "I  sup- 
pose instead  of  marrying  a  man  willing  to  give  you 
his  money,  his  name,  too,  you'd  be  willing  to  starve 
again  in  a  garret!  Is  that  your  wish?  Are  you 
hankering  for  your  lodging-house  room — that  and 
a  meal  a  day — half  a  meal  at  that?  Perhaps  you'd 
like  to  go  back  to  it  ? — to  your  attic  in  Octavia  Street. 
I  guess  you'd  be  just  as  successful — giving  those  tin 

76 


The  Trap 

pan  music  lessons — playing  the  piano,  too,  in  five- 
cent  movie  theaters!  You  see,"  she  smiled  icily, 
"I've  guessed  what  you  were  up  to  that  time  you 
went  to  Seattle!  Starved  there,  too,  didn't  you?" 
she  inquired  pleasantly. 

The  girl  was  facing  her,  waiting  for  the  burst  of 
eloquence  to  end. 

"I'm  playing  fair — I've  done  the  best  I  could. 
But  I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  to  Ferncliffe,  Mrs. 
Steese !" 

"Not  go  to  Ferncliffe  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Steese,  her 
inflection  rising.  "Why  not  ?  I  fail  to  see  why  you 
should  raise  such  a  rumpus  about  it.  Is  it  because 
you  don't  want  to  marry  that  man?  If  it  is,  I'll 
own  up  you've  got  me  twisted.  Any  girl  would 
jump  at  the  chance.  They're  all  trying  to  land  a 
man  like  that — every  woman;  it's  what  they're  out 
for.  You're  not  jgetting  squeamish  again,  are  you, 
just  because  you  don't  love  him?  .  .  .  Shush!" 

"Please  listen,"  begged  the  girl — "that  man 
doesn't  mean  to  marry  me.  I  know  you  say  he's 
head  over  heels  in  love;  just  the  same,  I'm  afraid. 
I  can't  tell  why,  but  something  warns  me  he's  only 
playing  with  us !" 

"Don't  be  a  fool !"  Mrs.  Steese  responded  bluntly. 
77 


The  Trap 

Then  she  leveled  a  look  at  the  girl.  "We've  got  to 
go !"  she  said  grimly. 

"Got  to?" 

"I'm  not  made  of  money,"  returned  Mrs.  Steese. 
"I've  chucked  away  enough  as  it  is.  Besides,  this 
is  the  biggest  chance  we've  had.  I'm  not  going  to 
let  it  slip  me  now." 

The  girl  again  replied,  "I  can't  do  it — I  can't!" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can !"  bugled  Mrs.  Steese,  her  irri- 
tation rising  with  her  voice — "you  can,  and  I'll  tell 
you  why  you  can!  Don't  you  think  I  haven't  lived 
these  months  with  you  without  twigging  something ! 
How'd  you  like  your  swell  San  Francisco  friends  to 
hear  what  you've  been  up  to?" 

The  girl's  countenance  did  not  change. 

"As  if  it  mattered  what  they  heard.  It's  enough 
that  I  know  myself,  isn't  it?" 

"Is  it,  though?"  inquired  Mrs.  Steese. 

"Besides,"  responded  the  girl,  "not  even  you 
would  tell  them." 

Mrs.  Steese  was  eying  her  narrowly. 

"Maybe  not,  my  dear ;  but  then,  some  folks  aren't 
so  particular."  She  smiled  now,  though  the  smile 
was  mirthless.  "If  you'd  like  to  hear  what  hap- 
pened while  you  were  out,  I'll  tell  you.  I  had  a  call, 

78 


The  Trap 

this  afternoon — quite  a  visit.  It  was  from  my  hus- 
band." 

"Your  husband?" 

"You  said  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Steese;  and  wonder 
dawned  in  the  girl's  deep  eyes. 

"Why !"  she  murmured — "I  didn't  even  know  you 
had  one,  Mrs.  Steese!" 

"Well,  you  know  now!"  was  the  sharp  reply. 
"Another  thing :  I've  warned  you  enough  not  to  call 
me  Mrs.  Steese !  I'm  supposed  to  be  your  aunt." 
Again  she  moved  irritably.  "This  afternoon  that 
man  dropped  in  here — he's  just  off  a  train  from  Los 
Angeles.  What's  more,  he  seems  to  have  heard 
of  you." 

"Heard  of  me?"    There  was  alarm  in  her  note. 

Mrs.  Steese  nodded  deliberately. 

"I  don't  know  what  he  knows — I  don't  know, 
either,  who  told  him.  He's  got  an  inkling  though." 

"What  did  he  want?"  asked  the  girl,  her  breath 
held,  her  eyes  wide. 

"What  d'you  suppose  he  wanted? — money,  of 
course.  I  gave  him  some — enough  to  get  tight  on; 
but  he  wants  more.  He'll  be  back  for  it,  too.  That's 
why  I'm  getting  out  of  here." 

"You  don't  think  he'll  do  anything?  ...  go  to 

79 


The  Trap 

Lester?"  She  looked  pale,  frightened,  as  she  spoke; 
she  looked,  besides,  very  young  for  this. 

Mrs.  Steese  sniffed  disconsolately. 

"I  wish  I  knew !  Once  you're  married  to  Lester, 
though,  there  won't  be  any  danger.  He  won't  make 
any  fuss  so  long  as  he  gets  his  rake-off." 

The  girl  stared  at  her,  white  to  the  lips  and  tense. 
She  made  no  sound,  however,  as  Mrs.  Steese  ram- 
bled on. 

"Be  sensible,  won't  you,  Sally?  You  don't  want 
him  giving  us  away,  do  you?  Think  what  all  your 
swell  friends  in  Frisco  'd  say!  And  if  you  land 
this,  too,  what  you  c'n  put  over  on  them! — money 
to  burn,  a  swell  name,  a  place  in  N'York  society. 
It's  all  yours  for  the  asking,  Sally — I  tell  you  again 
it's  a  case  of  head-over-heel  with  that  fellow,  Lester. 
I  know,  of  course,  you  don't  think  much  of  those 
Frisco  friends — most  of  'em  anyway — the  way  they 
gave  you  the  go-by  once  your  father  died  and  left 
you  poor;  but  that's  just  it!  If  you  went  back  with 
millions,  think  how  they'd  fall  down  in  rows !  Can't 
you  see  it?  Be  a  good  girl  now,  won't  you?"  A 
new  thought,  another  means  of  appeal,  seemed  at 
this  instant  to  strike  her.  "I  tell  you  what,  Sal; 

80 


The  Trap 

marry  Lester,  and  once  you  give  me  my  diwy,  you 
won't  lay  eyes  on  me,  either,  again !" 

The  girl's  gaze  was  fixed  distantly  on  the  wall. 
What  Mrs.  Steese  had  said  she  didn't  seem  to  hear. 

"You  think  your  husband  knows  ?"  she  murmured. 

Mrs.  Steese's  air  was  acute.  At  the  question,  she 
answered  hurriedly,  speaking  as  if  she  clutched  at  a 
straw. 

"I  wouldn't  wonder,  Sally !" 

The  girl's  eyelids  flickered.  The  color  was  still 
gone  from  her  face. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  her  voice  dragging,  diffi- 
cult—"I'll  take  the  chance.  I'll  go  to  Ferncliffe." 
She  wet  her  lips  feverishly.  "I'll  have  to,  now,"  she 
murmured. 

Mrs.  Steese  was  rapturous  with  relief,  with  joy. 

"That's  a  good  girl! — I  knew  you  would!"  she 
exulted.  Her  animation  restored,  she  begged  the  girl 
not  to  worry ;  everything  was  all  right.  Convinced 
it  was,  she  vowed  it  nonsense  to  think  Lester  meant 
anything  queer. 

"Land's  alive,  girl !"  she  averred,  "the  man's  just 
dying  to  get  you !" 

A  faint  smile  hovered  for  an  instant  in  the  girl's 
tired  eyes.  "Perhaps,"  she  murmured. 

81 


The  Trap 

It  was  maybe  a  minute  later  when  Mrs.  Steese, 
still  striving  to  soothe  the  other's  disquiet,  spied  the 
square  white  envelope  Sally  Raeburn  had  brought 
upstairs  with  her.  With  an  exclamation,  Mrs. 
Steese  pounced  upon  it. 

"Why,  it's  from  him !"  she  ejaculated. 

Asking  no  permission,  she  hurriedly  tore  it  open. 
The  next  moment  she  gave  another  cry. 

"There !  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  Listen  to  this  now !" 
Adjusting  her  glasses,  she  read  the  note  aloud,  the 
hand  holding  the  missive  quivering  with  excitement, 
exultation. 

Dear  Miss  Raeburn: — 

I  should  be  writing  to  your  aunt,  but  I  can't  refrain  from 
dropping  even  this  line  to  you.  I've  been  away,  or  you 
would  have  seen  me  before  this.  But  now  I've  returned, 
— I'm  at  Ferncliffe  as  this  will  show;  and  eager  to  see 
you  again.  That's  why  I  have  written. 

To-morrow  instead  of  letting  you  and  your  aunt  jour- 
ney here  by  train,  I'm  sending  for  you.  A  friend  has 
loaned  me  his  yacht,  a  swift  power-launch;  and  you  and 
Mrs.  Steese  must  come  by  it  to  Ferncliffe.  I'm  sending 
one  of  my  men  to  the  hotel  with  a  motor;  and  he  will 
take  charge  of  your  luggage,  and  see  you  safely  aboard 
the  yacht.  I  can't  tell  you  how  eagerly  I  look  forward  to 
seeing  you.  I  trust  you'll  feel  a  little  glad  to  see  me. 

Faithfully 

Henry  Lester. 

82 


The  Trap 

"Well,  does  that  suit,  miss?"  inquired  Mrs.  Steese. 

She  laughed,  her  laugh  still  excited,  still  exultant. 
"The  idea  of  your  worrying!  As  if  he  meant  to  put 
anything  over  on  us!  Why,  he's  just  sick  for  a 
glimpse  of  you!"  She  glanced  back  at  the  note. 
"Listen  to  the  postscript,  too !" 

P.S.  The  friend  who  has  loaned  me  the  yacht  is  stay- 
ing here.  I'm  trying  to  make  your  visit  memorable;  and 
if  you  tire  of  me  or  if  the  other  quests  take  my  time,  he 
will  make  himself  agreeable.  You'll  find  Mr.  Hastings 
a  charming  fellow. 

Waving  the  note  about  her  head,  Mrs.  Steese  exe- 
cuted a  sprightly  little  step  on  the  carpet. 

"His  friend  with  a  yacht !    With  a  yacht,  Sally !" 

But  the  next  instant  Mrs.  Steese  gave  another 
cry.  The  cry  was  agitated. 

"My  husband !    I'd  forgotten  him !" 

It  was  a  poser  evidently.  As  Mawsby  was  calling 
for  them  in  the  morning,  they  could  not  very  well 
flit  from  the  hotel  now.  And  the  husband,  like  a 
destroying  fate,  might  walk  in  on  them  at  any  in- 
stant. 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  take  a  chance,  I  guess,"  Mrs. 
Steese  sighed  dolefully. 

Apparently,  there  was  nothing  else  to  do;  and 
83 


The  Trap 

with  an  air  of  resignation  she  began  to  remove  her 
hat. 

The  girl  had  sunk  upon  a  chair.  Her  hands  in 
her  lap,  her  eyes  dwelling  on  the  carpet,  she  sat  there 
Wrapped  in  reflection.  Mrs.  Steese's  animation  again 
had  kindled  into  speech;  but  Sally  Raeburn  did  not 
seem  to  be  listening. 

"His  friend  with  a  yacht,  eh?"  Mrs.  Steese,  still 
exulting — "I  wonder  what  his  friend  with  the  yacht 
is  like?" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JUDGED  from  the  preparations,  the  fortnight's 
house  party  at  Ferncliffe  was  intended  by  the 
host  to  be  made  an  occasion  of  more  than 
ordinary  occurrence.  As  the  day  approached,  this 
became  more  evident.  The  store-rooms  were  re- 
stocked; the  wine-cellar  was  overhauled  and  refur- 
nished; and  from  basement  to  garret  the  house  left 
so  long  in  disuse  was  scrubbed  and  swept  and  dusted. 
In  addition,  the  staff  of  household  servants  was  in- 
creased, these  reinforcements  comprising  a  chef, 
several  maids,  a  second  man,  and,  lastly,  a  valet,  this 
gentleman's  gentleman  more  or  less  a  counterpart 
of  the  suave,  deferent  Mawsby. 

The  valet  was  for  Mr.  Hastings,  Mawsby  having 
engaged  him. 

As  Mawsby  explained  to  the  candidate,  Mr.  Hast- 
ings having  gone  on  a  long  visit  to  the  Orient,  a  trip 
from  which  he  had  just  returned,  his  former  at- 
tendant had  elected  to  quit  the  place  to  go  into  busi- 
ness on  his  own.  The  explanation  was  satisfactory 

85 


The  Trap 

to  the  new  incumbent.  He  also  hinted  his  approval 
of  his  new  master.  "He'll  do,  I  expeck,"  was  what 
he  announced ;  but  having  inspected  his  master's  be- 
longings he  expressed  a  mild  astonishment.  "Wy's 
all  his  blinkin'  stuff  so  blinkin'  new  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Why  wouldn't  it  be?"  parried  Mawsby — "didn't 
I  say  as  he's  just  home  from  China?" 

"Muss  have  been  shipwrecked  then,"  returned  the 
other. 

Butes,  during  this,  had  been  an  attentive  listener. 

"Take  my  word,  young  gentleman;  you'd  better 
keep  a'  eye  peeled,"  he  advised;  "Mr.  'Astings  'e 
knows  his  p's  and  q's!" 

Butes,  during  the  week,  had  been  a  busy  person. 
Never  had  he  found  himself  so  driven.  From  early 
morning  till  late  at  night  he  had  been  on  the  go, 
arranging  and  rearranging;  but  now  the  last  detail 
had  been  completed.  Never  had  the  house  and 
grounds  been  in  better  order;  and  all  this  the  butler 
had  done  on  his  own  initiative.  His  master  was  still 
away. 

The  first  of  the  guests  were  to  arrive  at  noon ;  but 
though  they  were,  Lester  as  yet  had  not  returned. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  since  that  first  day,  the  morning 
after  the  host's  unexpected  arrival  at  Ferncliffe, 

86 


The  Trap 

Butes  had  seen  little  of  his  master.  Only  once  had 
he  returned,  then  only  to  remain  a  few  hurried  mo- 
ments; and  where  he  was,  Butes  was  but  vaguely 
informed.  The  note  to  Miss  Raeburn  was,  in  fact, 
not  strictly  exact.  Lester  may  have  returned  to 
Ferncliffe,  but  he  was  not  dwelling  there.  Quite  fre- 
quently, however,  he  had  called  up  Mr.  Hastings  on 
the  telephone.  The  nature  of  these  messages,  though, 
was  not  revealed  to  Butes. 

The  respect  the  venerable  butler  felt  for  the  guest 
had  increased  the  more  he  saw  of  him.  In  the 
giddy,  go-as-you-please  world  of  to-day  it  was  not 
often  the  servant  found  one  so  apparently  well  ac- 
quainted, so  accommodated,  either,  to  the  niceties 
of  life.  As  these  were  Butes'  art,  and  as  Butes,  in 
his  metier,  was  an  artist,  it  is  only  reasonable,  con- 
sequently, that  he  should  be  influenced.  Nor  were 
the  others  less  impressed.  It  was  curious,  however, 
to  observe  Mawsby  while  they  discussed  the  guest. 
The  face  of  an  Oriental  idol  could  not  have  looked 
more  blank,  more  impassive. 

Half-past  eight  was  striking  when  Mr.  Hastings 
came  downstairs. 

It  was  the  first  morning,  now  the  seventh  of  his 
stay,  that  Mr.  Hastings  had  appeared  so  early. 

87 


The  Trap 

Heretofore  he  had  breakfasted  in  his  room.  At 
eight  o'clock,  however,  having  rung  his  bell,  his  valet 
Heath  responding,  he  had  ordered  his  tub,  had  him- 
self shaved  and  dressed;  then  he  had  sauntered  down 
the  stairs. 

Butes,  as  usual,  was  on  hand  to  greet  him. 

"Have  a  good  night,  sir?"  inquired  Butes  solicit- 
ously. 

"Thank  you,  yes,"  smiled  Hastings.  Having 
helped  himself  to  fruit,  he  unfolded  the  morning 
paper  and  propped  it  in  front  of  him.  "Has  my 
car,  my  motor,  arrived  yet  ?"  he  inquired. 

Butes  was  unable  to  say.  He  would  learn  at 
once,  however.  "See  if  Mr.  'Astings'  automobile 
'as  arrived  yet!"  he  directed  the  second  man,  who 
at  that  moment  entered  with  the  toast  and  coffee.  A 
few  minutes  later  the  man  returned  with  the  infor- 
mation that  both  the  car  and  the  chauffeur  had 
arrived  a  half  hour  before,  and  now  were  in  the 
garage. 

"Would  you  care  to  see  the  man?"  inquired  the 
butler. 

"Not  now,  thank  you,"  returned  Hastings;  "tell 
him  to  have  the  car  at  the  door  at  ten  o'clock.  I'll 
take  it  for  a  run  then." 

88 


The  Trap 

"Very  good,  sir — thank  you,  sir,"  responded 
Butes. 

He  departed  presently,  leaving  the  second  man  to 
attend  the  guest's  wants ;  and  not  more  than  a  minute 
later  Mawsby  appeared.  His  air,  in  spite  of  his 
usual  impassive  look,  was  uneasy.  After  bidding 
Mr.  Hastings  a  civil  good  morning,  he  popped  out 
into  the  pantry,  then  popped  in  again.  The  guest, 
immersed  now  in  the  newspaper,  gave  him  no  atten- 
tion; and  after  adjusting  the  dining-room  shades, 
opening  the  sideboard  drawers  as  if  in  search  of 
something  he  didn't  seem  to  find,  displaying  gener- 
ally an  awkward,  indefinite  uncertainty  not  at  all 
like  his  usual  self,  he  said  something  in  an  undertone 
to  the  second  man.  The  man  departed;  and  once 
he  was  gone,  Mawsby  cleared  his  throat. 

"Begging  pardon,  sir;  you're  not  going  off  the 
grounds,  are  you?"  he  inquired. 

Hastings  looked  up  quickly. 

"What?"  he  asked. 

Mawsby's  features  were  a  mask.  "Butes  was  or- 
dering the  new  car  around,  sir.  I  was  wondering, 
sir,  if  you  remembered  the  guests  would  be  arriving 
this  morning?" 

Hastings'  eyes  narrowed  slightly. 
89 


The  Trap 

"I  remember  .  .  .  perfectly!"  he  returned;  then, 
after  a  pause — "why?" 

"You'll  recollect,  sir,  it  was  master's  wish  you'd 
be  on  hand  the  moment  they  came." 

"I  haven't  forgotten.     I'll  be  on  hand." 

"You  understand,  then?"  added  Mawsby,  his  voice 
as  before,  inflexible.  Mr.  Hastings  seemed  definitely 
to  understand. 

"Perfectly,"  he  replied  again. 

"Very  good,  sir — thank  you,  sir,"  returned  the 
valet. 

He  was  halfway  out  the  door,  departing,  when 
he  paused.  Mr.  Hastings  had  his  eyes  on  the  valet 
still;  and,  as  Mawsby  turned,  he  difl  not  withdraw 
his  gaze.  The  valet,  however,  regarded  him  im- 
passively. 

"Begging  pardon  again,  sir,"  Mawsby  said  evenly 
— "if  it's  your  wish  to  try  out  the  new  car  you'll 
find  the  roads  inside  the  grounds  excellent.  It  might 
not  be  necessary  to  go  outside." 

"Thank  you  for  the  suggestion,"  returned  Mr. 
Hastings  quietly. 

As  the  door  closed,  he  sat  there,  his  eyes  still 
leveled  on  it.  His  aspect  was  curious.  He  seemed 

reflective,  his  pale,  oval  face  in  its  fineness,  a  deli- 

90 


The  Trap 

cacy  almost  feminine,  darkened  by  a  thoughtful 
frown.  But  presently  he  stirred.  With  a  shrug,  he 
turned  back  to  his  egg  and  his  newspaper,  evidently 
dismissing  his  momentary  thoughts. 

At  ten  the  car  was  brought  around  to  the  door. 
It  ranged  up  to  the  steps  with  a  roar  from  its  ex- 
haust, the  engine  under  its  hood  purring  with  a 
velvety  softness  that,  in  spite  of  its  smooth  quiet, 
was  significant  of  the  power  held  there  in  leash. 
The  car  was  an  imported  car — a  long,  low-hung 
roadster  with  lean,  rakish  lines — a  development  that, 
in  type,  in  engine,  running  gear,  body  and  all — was 
the  last  word  in  the  perfected  machine. 

As  the  chauffeur — the  mecanicien  rather,  for  the 
man,  a  swart- faced,  mustached  foreigner,  was  evi- 
dently that — brought  the  car  to  a  standstill,  his  pride 
in  it  was  evident.  Stepping  out  he  raised  the  hood, 
and,  hovering  over  the  whispering  mechanism,  he 
went  over  it  from  end  to  end,  making  sure  for  the 
moment  that  its  perfection  was  as  perfect  as  he  was 
sure  it  was. 

The  owner,  Mr.  Hastings,  had  not  appeared.  He 
stood  inside,  Butes  helping  him  into  a  new  fur  coat, 
itself  as  new  as  the  car — as  new  as  all  the  owner's 
other  new  possessions. 

91 


The  Trap 

"I'll  be  back  in  an  hour,"  Mr.  Hastings  said  leis- 
urely. 

"Very  good,  sir,"  Butes  replied.  As  he  added, 
Mr.  Lester  had  telephoned  he  would  arrive  by  eleven ; 
the  other  guests,  too,  would  be  there  shortly  after- 
ward. 

Mr.  Hastings  was  halfway  to  the  door  when  he 
stopped,  halting  to  put  on  his  gloves. 

"We'll  have  quite  a  party,  I  imagine,"  he  re- 
marked. 

Butes  beamed.  "Quite  a  party  for  us,  sir,  at  any 
rate!"  Of  course  there  would  be  only  six  at  dinner 
that  night;  but  to  Butes,  grown  forlorn  over  soli- 
tude, over  his  master's  infrequent  visits,  even  six 
was  something.  "A  regular  innovation,  I  might 
say,  sir,"  he  added. 

"You  mentioned  a  Mrs.  Steese?"  Mr.  Hastings 
remarked  casually.  "I  don't  think  I  know  her." 

"Yes,  sir — Mrs.  Steese  and  her  niece,  Miss  Rae- 
burn,"  assented  Butes. 

Mr.  Hastings  had  a  glove  on  now,  and  was  busily 
buttoning  it. 

"Not  a  New  York  name,"  he  suggested  indif- 
ferently; and  Butes  said  no.  Mrs.  Steese  and  Miss 
Raeburn,  as  Mawsby  had  informed  him,  were  from 

92 


The  Trap 

the  West,  California.  He  inferred  the  master  had 
met  them  at  Monterey. 

"The  niece  is  quite  young,  sir,"  he  added;  and 
having  buttoned  his  glove,  Mr.  Hastings  put  on  the 
other  and  smiled. 

"Young  and  I  dare  say  beautiful,"  he  ventured 
lightly. 

Old  Butes'  garrulity  got  a  fresh  start  at  this. 

"You  may  say  so,  sir!"  he  exclaimed — "I  'ear 
from  Mawsby,  sir,  as  'er  beauty's  quite  remarkable 
— springlike  and  dazzling,  sir,  if  I  may  be  so  poetic! 
'E  never  tires  of  speakin'  of  it,  sir,  Mawsby  doesn't, 
sir!  .  .  .  Of  course,  most  respect ful-like,  sir,  most! 
I  wouldn't  'ave  permitted  'im  to  speak,  sir,  other- 
wise. No,  sir,  not  a  word,  sir !" 

Mr.  Hastings  smiled  amusedly. 

"These  westerners  with  their  good  looks  and  their 
money" — he  paused,  struggling  with  his  glove — 
"with  their  money  especially  have  a  way  of  bowling 
us  all  over,  Butes." 

"Begging  pardon,  sir,"  Butes  returned,  "it  isn't 
the  money  'ere,  sir;  it's  the  young  lady  'erself  en-, 
tirely!" 

"Just  herself,  eh?" 

"Right,  sir !  She  'asn't  wealth,  I  'ear,  not  what  a 
93 


The  Trap 

gentleman  like  you,  like  my  master,  sir,  would  con- 
sider much.  Oh,  no,  sir! — 'er  aunt,  either.  It 
wouldn't  be  as  much  as  'alf  a  million,  I  estimate; 
not  more  anyhow,  sir.  It's  wholly  'er  beauty,  sir, 
as  makes  her  so  desirable." 

"Only  a  half  million,  eh?" 

"Not  more,  sir." 

The  flicker  of  a  smile  lighted  Mr.  Hastings'  well- 
bred  features. 

"I'd  begun  to  fear,  Butes,  we  had  another  of  those 
western  heiresses  on  our  hands." 

"Yes,  sir,  I've  'card  tell  of  'em.  .  .  .  Will  you 
'ave  a  robe  in  the  car,  sir?" 

"Thank  you,  no.     My  coat  will  do." 

He  had  finished  fastening  the  glove;  and  Butes, 
waiting  his  pleasure,  had  half  opened  the  door,  when 
Mr.  Hastings  paused  to  adjust  his  scarf  in  the  glass. 
"By  the  way,  Butes;  this  Mrs.  Steese,  is  she — 

she "  he  was  saying  when  Mawsby  appeared 

abruptly  in  the  hall. 

"Yes,  sir,  Mrs.  Steese  you  were  saying,  sir," 
prompted  the  attentive  Mawsby;  but  the  guest  evi- 
dently had  forgotten  what  he  meant  to  ask.  "What 
is  it,  Mawsby?"  he  asked. 

Mawsby  came  along  the  hall. 
94 


The  Trap 

"Begging  pardon,  sir;  Mr.  Lester  'phoned  he'd 
be  here  at  eleven,  sir.  I'd  be  back  a  few  minutes 
before,  sir,  if  you  mean  to  meet  him." 

"Yes,  Butes  already  has  told  me." 

"Very  good,  sir,  thank  you,  sir." 

"Anything  else,  Mawsby?" 

"No,  sir,  nothing;  thank  you,  sir." 

Smiling  lightly,  Mr.  Hastings  sauntered  down  the 
steps,  humming  to  himself  as  he  went  a  snatch  of 
the  vagabond  music  of  La  Bohtme.  With  a  nod  to 
the  mecanicien — a  pleasant  word  or  so  of  greeting 
to  his  new  employee,  he  ran  an  appraising  eye  over 
the  car,  then  clambered  into  the  driver's  seat.  The 
other  took  his  seat  beside  him ;  and  with  a  practiced 
hand,  an  equally  familiar  thrust  of  his  foot,  he  re- 
leased the  clutch,  slid  in  the  gears,  and  giving  the  en- 
gine a  touch  of  gas,  leaped  away  along  the  driveway. 

He  had  hardly  shot  out  of  view  over  the  crest  of 
the  rise  when  down  the  road  on  the  curves  above 
the  lodge-gates  a  second  car  rolled  rapidly  into  view. 

The  car  was  Lester's.  An  hour  ahead  of  time, 
the  host  had  returned  to  Ferncliffe.  With  him  was 
a  second  guest — a  lady ;  and  he  and  she  were  plunged 
in  vehement  conversation. 

The  lady  was  Mrs.  Dewitt. 

95 


1 


CHAPTER  IX 

motor  halted  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Dewitt 
was  still  talking  vehemently;  and  with  a 
look  of  warning,  of  annoyance,  too,  Les- 
ter touched  her  on  the  arm.  Butes  and  Mawsby, 
hastening  down  the  steps,  already  were  beside  the 
car. 

It  developed  at  once  where  Lester  had  been  during 
his  absence  from  Ferncliffe.  He  had  not  been  out 
of  New  York. 

"Where's  Mr.  Hastings,  Mawsby?"  was  his  first 
question. 

"He's  out,  sir,"  was  the  man's  reply. 

"Out?"  Lester's  brows  contracted.  "Did  you 
give  him  my  message?" 

Mawsby  said  yes.  He  had  informed  the  guest 
the  host  would  arrive  shortly  before  eleven,  and  Mr. 
Hastings  had  said  he'd  be  on  hand. 

Again  a  shade  of  annoyance  swept  over  Lester's 
brow ;  and,  his  mouth  set,  he  took  out  his  watch  and 
glanced  at  it.  The  time  was  a  few  minutes  after  ten. 

96 


The  Trap 

"Begging  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mawsby — "Mr.  Hast- 
ings is  in  the  grounds  somewhere.  He  didn't  go  out, 
I  feel  certain." 

Lester  had  alighted.  "Find  him/'  he  directed 
sharply — "I  have  only  a  few  minutes  to  see  him. 
I'm  returning  to  the  city."  Then  he  switched  around 
to  Mrs.  Dewitt.  She  was  still  sitting  in  the  car,  her 
eyes  behind  her  veil  animated.  "Come,  Fanny," 
said  Lester. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  did  not  move.  "You're  not  going 
back?"  she  inquired,  her  inflection  rising. 

"Yes.  I  have  an  engagement.  I  can't  miss  it, 
either,"  Lester  answered. 

The  second  man  had  now  appeared,  and  with 
Mawsby  he  was  removing  the  handbags  from  the 
car. 

"Don't  move  those  things!"  Mrs.  Dewitt  said 
sharply.  She  rose  and  stepped  hurriedly  from  the 
car.  "I  wish  to  speak  with  you,  Harry,"  she  an- 
nounced. Giving  him  no  chance  for  dissent,  she 
swept  up  the  steps  and  into  the  house. 

Lester  strolled  after  her.  His  air  was  light.  He 
was  smiling  to  himself. 

The  living-room  at  Ferncliffe  was  a  high-walled, 
expressionless  sort  of  an  apartment,  a  section  of  the 

97 


The  Trap 

house  in  which  the  stiff  ungainliness  of  the  early 
'70' s  had  persisted  in  the  face  of  every  subsequent 
effort  to  relieve  it.  That  was  the  feature  of  the 
period's  architecture — the  very  ugliness  they  built 
was  built  to  stay;  it  could  not  be  altered,  it  could 
only  be  destroyed.  The  best,  consequently,  that  had 
been  done  with  the  living-room  at  Ferncliffe  was  to 
liven  up  its  chilliness,  to  put  warmth,  color,  on  the 
walls ;  to  break  up  its  blank,  arid  stretches  of  plaster- 
ing with  paneling,  pictures,  hangings;  to  fill  in  its 
barnlike  area  of  floor  with  chairs,  lounges,  tables 
and  other  furnishings  that  were  as  easy  and  un- 
formidable  as  taste  and  means  could  supply.  In  his 
despair,  too,  of  making  the  place  agreeable,  Lester 
had  torn  down  one  side  of  the  room,  and  built  in 
there  a  huge  open  fireplace.  This  had  helped  most 
of  all  to  make  cheer.  A  fire  of  logs  was  blazing 
now  on  the  andirons ;  and  the  window  shades  having 
been  lowered  halfway,  the  light  from  the  crackling 
hickory  filled  the  room  with  a  warm,  ingratiating 
glow. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  stood  planted  on  the  hearth-rug. 

She  had  thrown  back  her  motor  veil,  and  the 
gleam  from  the  fire  brought  out  in  strong  relief  the 
tense,  determined  lines  upon  her  face.  A  beautiful 

98 


The  Trap 

woman,  an  alluring  one,  too,  it  could  not  be  denied ; 
yet  again  the  lady's  attractiveness  was  submerged  in 
her  expression  of  restrained,  frigid  distaste.  More 
than  that,  she  looked  as  if,  swayed  by  anger,  anger 
was  about  to  get  the  upper  hand. 

"Well  ?"  inquired  Lester. 

"See  here,  Harry  Lester,"  she  returned  instantly, 
"if  you  intend  to  go  off  and  leave  me  here,  I  give 
you  notice  I'll  not  remain!" 

"I'm  not  leaving  you  here,"  responded  Lester; 
and  Mrs.  Dewitt  made  another  movement  of  irrita- 
tion. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  you  mean,  then!  You 
just  told  your  man  you  were  going  back  to  the  city." 

"What  of  it,  Fanny?"  Lester  smiled  evenly.  "It 
isn't  going  to  harm  you  to  wait  till  I  return." 

Mrs.  Dewitt  had  begun  to  tap  the  rug  with  a  slen- 
der, neatly-booted  foot.  "When  will  that  be?"  she 
inquired ;  and  Lester  smiled  again. 

"I  don't  know,  Fanny — some  time  this  evening,  I 
presume." 

"You  presume,,  do  you?"  returned  Mrs.  Dewitt. 
Then  she  drew  her  graceful  shoulders  together. 
"All  I  have  to  say  is,  I  decline  to  stay  here  without 
you.  If  you  are  going  back  to  the  city,  I  will  go 

99 


The  Trap 

back  with  you.  When  you  return,  I  will  return.  I 
tell  you  now  I  will  not  remain  alone  in  this  house 
with  those  women !" 

"What  women?"  asked  Lester  quietly. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  was  rigid  now.  "You  know  whom 
I  mean,  Mrs.  Steese  and  the  girl  with  her." 

"Her  niece?" 

Mrs.  Dewitt  had  her  eyes  on  him. 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Harry,  she  is  her — niece?" 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  Fanny,"  responded  Lester, 
"that  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about?" 

His  easy  smiling  demeanor  had  not  changed  in  the 
least.  Mrs.  Dewitt,  however,  long  had  known  Les- 
ter; consequently,  she  had  long  known,  too,  that 
when  Lester  smiled  the  smile  might  convey  anything 
but  amiability. 

"Oh,  well — never  mind,"  she  murmured. 

"But  I  do  mind,"  said  Lester  quietly.  "You  sug- 
gest somehow  a  slur  on  Miss  Raeburn.  Do  you 
know  anything  against  her?" 

"I  haven't  said  I  did,"  Mrs.  Dewitt  returned  un- 
comfortably. 

"If  you  do,  you'd  better  say  it,"  Lester  suggested. 
"Remember,  Miss  Raeburn  and  Mrs.  Steese  are  com- 
ing here  as  my  guests." 

100 


The  Trap 

"That's  just  it!"  Mrs.  Dewitt  swiftly  replied; 
"why  are  you  bringing  them  to  Ferncliffe,  Harry? 
I  know  the  girl's  beautiful;  she's  well-bred,  too,  I'll 
admit;  but  that  other  woman — that  Mrs.  Steese! 
Even  the  servants  stare  at  her.  How  you  can  have 
a  person  like  that  in  your  house  I  can't  understand !" 

Lester's  smile  did  not  alter.  It  was,  if  anything, 
more  amiable. 

"Perhaps  my  interest  isn't  in  Mrs.  Steese,"  he 
suggested;  "perhaps" — he  paused  briefly — "perhaps 
it  is  in  Miss  Raeburn." 

Mrs.  Dewitt's  eyes  widened.  She  paled  suddenly 
to  her  lips. 

"Miss  Raeburn?" 

Lester  nodded. 

"Harry — you "    Mrs.   Dewitt's   speech   was 

difficult.    "You  mean — her?    Is  that — you're  inter- 
ested in — in  that  girl?" 

"No,  I  didn't  say  that,"  responded  Lester — "I 
said,  if  you  remember — perhaps." 

With  an  effort  Mrs.  Dewitt  controlled  her  rising 
emotion. 

"Harry,  do  you  know  anything  about  this  young 
woman?"  she  asked,  her  tone  pointed. 

Lester  nodded.     "Naturally." 
101 


The  Trap 

"You  know  who  her  people  are?  who  she  is? 
where  she  comes  from?" 

"Everything,"  he  returned. 

"I  wonder,"  was  Mrs.  Dewitt's  murmured  re- 
sponse, "I  wonder  if  you  do." 

The  veiled  note  in  her  tone,  its  hint  of  innuendo, 
made  Lester  gaze  at  her  closely. 

"See  here,  Fanny,"  he  directed,  his  voice  low  but 
its  tone  metallic;  "you  speak  as  if  you'd  heard  some- 
thing. Have  you  been  prying  into  Miss  Raeburn's 
affairs.  Perhaps  you'll  make  clear  your  suspicions." 

"I'll  say  this !"  Mrs.  Dewitt  flashed  back  at  him — 
"this  business  is  enough  to  rouse  any  one.  This 
girl  and  her  companion,  strangers  to  all  of  us,  you 
bring  to  your  house  in  defiance  to  every  convention. 
The  young  woman  you  may  explain,  the  aunt  you 
can't.  She's  loud,  vulgar — common  as  so  much  clay, 
yet  you  sit  her  at  your  table,  make  her  a  guest  in 
your  father's  house ;  and  though  even  your  servants 
stare  and  snicker,  you  give  no  hint  of  concern. 
That's  not  all,  either;  if  it  weren't  enough  for  you 
to  subject  yourself  to  this,  you  subject  your  friends 
to  it  as  well !  I'd  like  to  know  now  why  you  asked 
me  here?  What  is  the  purpose  of  this  house-party? 
Why  did  you  invite  me  to  it?" 

102 


The  Trap 

"You  didn't  have  to  come,  did  you?"  inquired 
Lester  calmly;  and  after  a  glance  at  him,  a  quick, 
searching  look,  Mrs.  Dewitt  deeply  drew  in  her 
breath. 

"I  came,"  she  said  slowly,  "because  I  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  you!  .  .  .  Oh,  Harry!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Dewitt,  the  cry  abrupt,  "why  do  you 
pain  me  so?  Haven't  I  suffered  enough  as  it  is?" 

The  change  in  Lester  was  instant.  At  her  cry  and 
the  appeal  that  followed  it,  the  smile  fled  from  his 
lips,  and  he  stiffened  rigidly.  About  him  and  the 
grim  gravity  of  his  look,  though,  was  a  suggestion 
of  sudden  pain. 

"You  suffer?"  he  said  slowly. 

She  winced  as  if  he  had  struck  her. 

"I  know  what  I  did,  Harry.  I've  learned  the  hurt 
I  gave  you.  You're  not  going  to  blame  me  always, 
are  you  ?  I  wasn't  all  at  fault.  It  was  cruel,  cruel, 
what  I  did;  but  you  must  see  now  what  my  bring- 
ing up  would  mean.  Day  and  night  I  was  urged, 
even  by  my  mother,  Harry.  They  saw  only  the  sup- 
posed advantage,  they  thought  it  best  for  me,  they 
in  their  one  estimate  of  the  best — worldliness.  They 
thought  Frank  could  better  give  me  what  they 

103 


The  Trap 

sought.  They  did  not  see  the  mere  sham  and  glitter 
behind  all  his  pretenses!" 

"No,"  assented  Lester  grimly,  "they  didn't  guess 
I  c'd  buy  and  sell  him  a  half  dozen  times  over!" 

"If  only  they  had !"  Mrs.  Dewitt  exclaimed.  She 
made  a  little  gesture  of  appeal,  taking  a  step  toward 
him  timidly.  "I  loved  you,  Harry;  you  know,  too, 
that  I  did!  I've  felt  besides  all  that  bitterness  you 
have  felt,  the  rancor,  the  resentment,  that  changed 
you  from  a  gay,  lovable  boy  to  what  you've  become. 
I've  suffered  with  you,  Harry — suffered  as  much,  as 
keenly  as  you.  I'm  not  heartless.  Even  though  I 
were  brouglit  up  to  be  what  I  was — to  marry  money, 
to  make  a  match,  to  hunt  out  the  man  who'd  give 
me  the  most,  I  was  not  all  shallow,  vicious.  You 
can  see  it,  can't  you  ?" 

"See  it  ?"  asked  Lester.  His  lips  set  themselves  a 
little  tighter.  "Rather  late,  isn't  it,  to  ask  me  that?" 

Her  mouth  quivered. 

"Is  it  too  late,  Harry?" 

He  did  not  reply,  but  a  reply  apparently  she  did 
not  expect.  "That  other  night,  Harry — the  night  I 
dined  at  your  house  in  town — it  all  came  back  to 
me.  You  gave  that  girl  the  song,  and  she  played  it 
for  you.  Why  did  you  do  that?  I  remembered 

104 


The  Trap 

that  it  had  been  written  for  me.  Every  note  of  it 
was  like  a  hammerstroke  on  my  heart.  All  the  old 
days  came  back — the  sweetness  of  them  and  your 
boyishness  and  simplicity.  .  .  .  You  were  never 
cruel,  not  then,  Harry.  The  other  night,  though, 
you  were  cruel ;  you  meant  to  be,  besides.  Why  ?" 

"Cruel?"  echoed  Lester.  His  tone  had  not  altered 
from  its  former  evenness.  For  an  instant,  however, 
his  eyes  glinted,  their  light  leaping.  "I,  cruel?"  he 
smiled.  "Oh,  very  well,"  he  remarked  aimlessly. 

"Did  you  mean  to  wound  me?"  she  asked.  "Is 
that  why  you  had  me  there  to  dinner."  She  paused, 
wetting  her  lips.  "Harry,  is  that  why  you've  let 
me  come  here?"  As  she  spoke,  she  went  another 
step  toward  him,  her  eyes  intent  on  Lester.  "Did 
you  want  me  here  so  that  you  could  wound,  could 
affront  me  before  that  girl?" 

Lester  did  not  reply.  His  step  heavy,  he  had 
sauntered  across  the  room  toward  a  tall  bay  window 
at  the  side.  The  window  gave  upon  a  wide  stretch 
of  lawn  and  shrubbery,  banked  at  the  lower  end  by 
a  row  of  trees.  Beyond  the  trees  a  strip  of  the  dis- 
tant river  was  visible,  the  vista  of  water  rippling  and 
dancing  in  the  brisk  spring  sunlight. 

Along  this  a  white-hulled  craft  was  moving,  its 
105 


The  Trap 

freeboard  and  brightwork  gleaming;  the  wake 
churned  up  by  its  powerful  screw  foaming  turbu- 
lently  behind  it.  As  Lester's  eye  fell  upon  the  boat, 
a  shrill,  piercing  whistle  woke  the  echoes  among  the 
river  hills.  The  launch  was  blowing  for  the  Fern- 
cliffe  wharf. 

"Well,  Harry?"  inquired  Mrs.  Dewitt. 

He  turned  and  came  slowly  back.  "I've  been 
thinking,  Fanny.  Perhaps,  after  all,  you'd  better 
go.  I  can  manage  without  you;  and,  if  you  like, 
I'll  have  a  motor  take  you  back  to  town.  If  you 
prefer,  though,  there's  a  train  at  n  115.  That  will 
get  you  back  in  time  for  luncheon." 

"You  don't  wish  me  to  stay,  then?"  She  was  still 
gazing  at  him,  intent.  Now,  however,  her  air  had 
changed.  It  was  no  longer  appealing,  pleading.  "If 
you  wish  me  to  go,  why  did  you  let  me  come  here?" 
Mrs.  Dewitt  inquired  slowly. 

Lester  did  not  reply.  Outside  at  the  door  a  motor 
had  just  drawn  up,  and  a  murmur  of  voices  sounded. 
Evidently  Mr.  Hastings  had  returned  from  his  drive ; 
and  as  he  heard  the  stir  in  the  hall,  Lester  moved 
restlessly. 

"Are  you  going  to  town?"  asked  Mrs.  Dewitt. 

He  nodded. 

106 


The  Trap 

"You'll  be  there  all  afternoon?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Lester,  "I  may  not  be  back  till 
dark." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Dewitt,  her  tone 
final,  "I'll  change  my  mind.  I'm  going  to  stay, 
Harry.  I  mean  to  see  this  business  to  an  end." 
Leisurely  she  began  to  remove  her  gloves.  "Don't 
think  I'm  afraid,  either,"  added  Mrs.  Dewitt. 

Lester  did  not  offer  to  reply.  Crossing  to  the 
door,  he  opened  it.  Mawsby  was  waiting  in  the  hall ; 
and,  as  he  saw  his  master,  he  glided  silently  toward 
him. 

"Take  Mrs.  Dewitt's  luggage  to  her  room,"  di- 
rected Lester.  Then  he  asked,  "Where  is  Mr.  Hast- 
ings?" 

The  gentleman  answered  in  person.  He  had  just 
entered.  Hurrying  toward  his  host,  he  stretched  out 
a  cordial  hand. 

"My  dear  fellow!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  hello,"  Lester  answered  aimlessly. 


CHAPTER  X 

meeting,  so  hearty  and  cordial  on  one 
side;  so  brief,  not  to  say  abrupt,  on  the 
other,  was  evidently  not  just  what  the 
guest  had  anticipated.  In  spite,  however,  of  his 
"host's  offhand  manner,  Mr.  Hastings  was  either  too 
well-bred  to  show  astonishment  or  too  self-possessed 
to  feel  himself  ruffled. 

Smiling  and  pleasant,  he  showed  himself  as  grace- 
fully at  ease  as  ever. 

"Finished  your  business  in  town?"  he  inquired. 

"No,"  said  Lester. 

The  "no"  was  as  blunt  and  abrupt  as  his  manner, 
yet  Mr.  Hastings  maintained  his  bright,  easy  de- 
meanor. "Not  finished,  eh?  You  don't  mean  you 
have  to  return?" 

"Yes." 

Again  blunt.  Again  crisp,  abrupt.  Still,  as  easy 
as  before,  though,  Mr.  Hastings  made  a  well-bred 
little  moue. 

108 


The  Trap 

"So?  .  .  .  That's  beastly  luck!  I  hoped  we'd 
manage  to  see  a  little  of  each  other  to-day." 

Lester  was  looking  at  him  from  under  his  for- 
midable brows.  It  was  as  if  he  studied  his  guest, 
his  look  acute,  appraising.  The  guest,  however, 
seemed  as  oblivious  of  this  as  he  was  to  his  host's 
crustiness.  "Ripping  place  you  have  here,  Lester," 
he  observed.  "Wonder  you  don't  use  it  more." 
Lounging  across  the  room  as  he  spoke,  he  helped 
himself  to  a  cigarette  from  the  chased  silver  box 
on  the  table ;  and,  striking  a  match,  he  held  it  to  the 
cigarette,  his  long,  slender  hands  eloquently  grace- 
ful. "Treat  to  be  here,  I  assure  you.  Little  lone- 
some, of  course,  with  you  away;  but  that  couldn't 
be  helped.  Can't  tell  you  when  I've  enjoyed  a  visit 
more." 

Lester  responded  with  a  mumble,  a  grunt. 

Mr.  Hastings  blew  forth  a  cloud  of  smoke.  All 
at  once  he  gave  a  little  laugh ;  and  his  chin  over  his 
shoulder,  he  darted  a  bright,  twinkling  glance  at  his 
host.  "Twigged  something  about  you,  old  man. 
You  didn't  tell  me  you  were  musical!" 

Musical?  Lester's  stare  was  inquiring.  It  was 
penetrating,  too:  but  Mr.  Hastings,  as  he  knocked 
the  ash  from  his  cigarette,  again  twinkled  pleasantly. 

109 


The  Trap 

"Those  books  of  yours,  the  ones  in  the  library  you'd 
scribbled  in,  you  know.  I  happened  to  tumble  on 
them,  yesterday.  Hope  you  don't  mind  my  peeping, 
though,"  added  Mr.  Hastings.  "I  used  to  dabble, 
too." 

If  Lester  minded  he  did  not  say  so.  A  lurking 
grin  gathered  in  his  eyes;  and  there  was  a  sugges- 
tion for  an  instant  that  his  lip  curled.  Music?  A 
stone-mason  asked  about  his  embroidery  might  have 
had  that  momentary  expression.  At  any  rate,  his 
opinion  about  that  boyhood  extravagance  of  his 
seemed  derisive. 

"Turn  around,  Hastings,"  Lester  said  abruptly. 

The  guest  started.  For  an  instant  his  air  of  well- 
bred  aplomb  seemed  less  certain.  "What  ?"  he  asked. 

"Turn  around,"  repeated  Lester — "I  want  to  look 
at  your  clothes !" 

The  pale  delicacy  of  the  other's  features,  in  their 
clear-cut,  almost  womanly  fineness,  underwent  a 
gradual  change.  Lester's  curt  command  he  seemed 
to  grasp,  and  into  his  face  the  color  swept  slowly, 
its  hue  faintly  pink.  "What's  wrong  with  my 
clothes?"  he  inquired  deliberately;  and  the  grin  in 
Lester's  eye  grew.  "I  want  to  make  sure  nothing 
is,"  he  replied ;  "now  turn,  will  you  ?" 

JJLO 


The  Trap 

The  other  turned  slowly.  For  a  moment  it  had 
looked  as  if  he  meant  to  refuse;  but  turn  he  did, 
giving  to  Lester  a  view  of  a  trim,  shapely  back 
garbed  in  expensive  tweeds.  Coat  and  trousers  were 
all  that  the  perfection  of  sartorial  art  could  supply ; 
the  booted  feet  beneath  the  trousers,  too,  were  ele- 
gance as  well.  Mr.  Hastings,  in  fact,  appeared  the 
pink  of  all  that  was  taste,  was  choice. 

"All  your  other  clothes  like  these?"  asked  Lester. 

The  color  in  Mr.  Hastings'  face  had  crept  away 
again.  It  was  now  as  pallid  as  before — a  shade 
more  so  perhaps. 

"Yes,"  was  his  muffled  reply. 

Lester  stepped  abruptly  toward  him.  "Now  lis- 
ten," he  directed. 

Out  under  the  porte  cochere  again  a  motor  had 
driven  up.  Again  at  the  door  was  the  sound  of 
voices — Butes'  low  and  deferent ;  another,  a  woman's 
voice,  higher  and  more  animated — and  his  air  hur- 
ried, Lester  bent  toward  his  guest.  "There's  a  Mrs. 
Dewitt  upstairs — a  guest.  If  she  tries  to  worm  any- 
thing out  of  you,  head  her  off.  The  people  outside, 
the  ones  just  arrived,  are  the  ones  you're  to  enter- 
tain. I'm  going  to  the  city — I  can't  wait  to  see 
them;  but  if  they  say  anything,  don't  let  on  I've 

in 


The  Trap 

just  left.  Say  I  had  an  urgent  message  just  before 
they  came.  Is  that  all  clear  now?" 

It  was  all  clear  but  one  detail.  "How  about  the 
servants?"  inquired  Mr.  Hastings. 

The  servants  had  their  instructions,  it  appeared. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Hastings  quietly,  "I'll  do  as 
you  say." 

"You  keep  your  head  about  you !"  warned  Lester. 

Already  he  had  turned  away,  heading  for  the 
library  at  the  ba$k;  and  as  the  living-room  door 
opened  and  the  lady  that  opened  it  entered,  the  door 
to  the  library  closed  swiftly. 

Mr.  Hastings  hurried  forward. 

In  the  brief  instant  that  had  intervened  between 
the  host's  exit  and  the  appearance  of  the  lady  just 
arrived,  he  had  somehow  recovered  his  usual  aplomb ; 
and,  cordially,  he  made  haste  to  greet  the  newcomer. 

"Mrs.  Steese,  isn't  it  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Steese  it  was;  and  the  pleasantness  of  Mr. 
Hastings'  welcome  seemed  to  spring  the  flood  gates 
of  that  lady's  eager  volubility. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Hastings !  I  knew  you 
the  instant  I  laid  eyes  on  you — yes  I  did! — and  I 
can't  tell  you  how  nice  it  was  to  send  us  your 
lovely  yacht!  It  was  just  perfectly  grand  of  you 

112 


The  Trap 

to  think  of  doing  it;  and  I  never  in  my  life  had 
such  a  nice  ride  on  the  water.  It  was  just  swell, 
I  should  say  so !  Swell !  .  .  .  Meet  my  niece,  Miss 
Raeburn,  Mr.  Hastings." 

He  saw  her  then. 

As  she  came  forward  from  the  door  never  had 
she  looked  more  radiant,  more  attractive  in  the 
fragrance  of  her  fresh,  vigorous  youth,  its  bloom 
and  beauty.  A  smart  street  dress  with  a  wisp  of  fur 
about  the  throat,  a  dress  trim  and  modish  to  the  last 
touch,  attired  her;  that  and  a  toque  cocked  jauntily 
on  her  jaunty  little  head.  "Delighted,  Mr.  Hast- 
ings!" As  she  offered  him  her  hand,  she  laughed 
brightly.  "I'd  begun  to  think  that  auntie  with  her 
chatter  would  never  give  me  a  chance  to  meet  you! 
.  .  .  Run  along  now,  auntie,"  Sally  Raeburn 
directed;  "Mawsby's  waiting  to  show  you  your 
room ;  and  I  wish  to  thank  Mr.  Hastings  for  sending 
his  yacht — for  sending  me,  too,  those  wonderful 
violets !" 

Her  hand  still  lingered  in  Mr.  Hastings'.  Auntie, 
as  directed,  ran  along. 

Out  by  the  back  way  hurried  Lester.  He  stamped 
along,  his  heavy  tread  thudding  on  the  flagged  walk, 


The  Trap 

his  eyes  as  he  forged  onward  toward  the  stables 
murky  with  the  fire  in  their  depths. 

"Music,  eh?  Dabbled  in  it,  too,  did  he?"  Mum- 
bling under  his  breath  he  stamped  along  toward  his 
waiting  car.  "The  damned  waster!"  Lester  growled 
to  himself. 

The  chauffeur  opened  the  door  of  the  car  for  him ; 
and  as  Lester  clambered  into  the  tonneau,  he  gave 
the  man  a  direction. 

The  direction  was  not  to  the  city. 

"Take  the  river  road  to  the  station,"  ordered 
Lester;  "I've  got  to  meet  the  n  :i6  from  New 
York." 


I 


CHAPTER   XI 

motive  for  Lester's  departure,  his  hur- 
ried exit  from  Ferncliffe  just  as  the  ladies, 
his  guests,  arrived,  was  not  made  clear 
to  any  of  these  persons,  not  even  to  Mrs.  Dewitt. 
Nor  had  Lester  vouchsafed,  either,  to  explain  him- 
self to  Mr.  Hastings,  the  guest  he  had  directed  to 
play  host  during  the  host's  own  absence.  The  meet- 
ing of  the  ii  :i6  from  the  city,  however,  seemed  a 
matter  of  no  little  importance  to  Lester,  and  one 
that  must  not  be  overlooked.  A  stretch  of  road  six 
miles  in  length,  intervened  between  Ferncliffe  and 
the  station;  and  the  chauffeur,  under  his  master's 
urging,  took  the  distance  at  a  pace  that  it  would  tax 
a  less  skillful  or  less  hardened  driver  fo  endure. 
But  that  was  Lester's  way.  He  was  one  of  the 
sort  whom  peril  seems  to  exhilarate. 

Eleven  minutes  were  left  to  catch  the  train,  but 
the  car  made  it  in  eight. 

The  three  minutes  to  spare  Lester  spent  in  trudg- 
ing up  and  down  the  platform.  The  station  was 


The  Trap 

thronged  with  the  usual  crowd,  mostly  the  village 
folk,  waiting  for  the  train;  and,  many  of  these 
knowing  who  Lester  was,  eyed  him  with  passing 
interest.  Lester  gave  no  heed.  His  face  still  dark, 
he  stalked  along  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 
left,  and  plunged  in  deep  reflection.  But  this  de- 
parted as  the  train  hove  into  view.  The  instant  it 
whistled  for  the  yard  he  awoke  briskly  from  his  rev- 
eries. 

The  passengers  alighting  were  many ;  and  as  they 
hurried  out  of  the  cars  Lester  took  his  stand  where 
a  glance  gave  him  the  view  of  the  lot.  Outside  the 
platform,  the  village  hackmen  with  their  carriages 
and  cars  had  begun  to  vociferate,  and  toward  these, 
a  half  dozen  of  the  arriving  passengers  made  their 
way.  Lester's  eye  lighted  all  at  once.  Among  them 
was  one  manifestly  a  stranger;  and  as  Lester's 
glance,  raking  the  lot,  singled  out  this  passenger,  he 
strode  rapidly  after  him. 

It  was  perhaps  singular  that  the  host  at  Ferncliffe, 
a  man  of  his  wealth  and  place,  should  be  interested 
in  a  person  of  the  newcomer's  class — at  any  rate,  of 
his  appearance.  The  man  was  tall,  angular  and  un- 
gainly; his  attire,  into  the  bargain,  was  neither  too 
new  nor  was  it  any  too  tidy.  A  frock  coat  of  dingy 

116 


The  Trap 

texture,  its  seams  and  elbows  shining  from  use, 
flapped  about  his  knees,  his  trousers  were  bagged 
and  threadbare ;  and  on  the  man's  head  was  perched 
a  weatherworn  dented  derby  that,  in  addition  to  its 
look  of  vicissitude,  was  grotesquely  a  size  or  so  too 
small  for  its  wearer.  A  scraggy,  unkempt  beard 
parted  in  the  middle  completed  his  appearance;  and 
as  he  walked  along,  he  combed  this  with  his  fingers 
in  uncertainty. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  Lester  said  abruptly ;  "your  name 
is  Rankin,  isn't  it?" 

The  man  stopped,  looked  startled. 

"Rankin,  yes — that's  it.  Who  are  you?"  he 
asked. 

Lester  did  not  inform  him. 

"You're  bound  for  Ferncliffe,  aren't  you?"  he  in- 
quired. 

The  man  was  about  to  reply  when  he  checked 
himself. 

"What's  it  to  you?"  he  retorted. 

"It's  this,  Mr.  Rankin,"  Lester  returned  quietly: 
"You're  not  going  to  Ferncliffe  because  you're  not 
wanted  there.  I  happen  to  know  all  about  you,  Mr. 
Rankin — I  knew  when  you  left  Los  Angeles,  and 
when  you  arrived  in  New  York.  I  also  knew  what 

117 


The  Trap 

time  you  meant  to  take  this  train,  this  morning. 
That  isn't  all  I  know,  either,  my  friend.  I  know 
several  persons  in  Los  Angeles  as  well  as  San  Fran- 
cisco who  would  be  glad  to  learn  your  whereabouts. 
One  of  them  is  Mrs.  Mangin  who  maintains  a  lodg- 
ing house  in  Davisadero  Street.  The  lady  would 
like  to  get  trace  of  you  as  well  as  of  the  thirty-five 
hundred  dollars  she  gave  you  to  invest  in  stocks. 
Finally,  Mr.  Rankin,"  said  Lester,  still  as  quietly 
as  before,  "your  name  isn't  Rankin  at  all.  Your 
name  happens  to  be  Stcese — Roscoe  Steese.  You 
see,  I  know  all  about  you,  my  friend." 

The  man  was  staring  at  him  agape. 

"Say,  who  are  you?"  he  demanded  huskily. 

"I  am  Henry  Lester,"  Lester  smiled ;  and  the  man 
gasped  in  incredulous  amazement. 

"You're  Henry  Lester?"  Then  he  laughed,  the 
laugh  harsh,  scornful.  "Don't  fool  yourself,  you 
can't  trim  me  like  that,  sayin'  you're  him.  You've 
been  sent  by  her,  you  know  who  I  mean,  just  to 
stall  me  off !  .  .  .  You,  Henry  Lester  ?  My  eye  you 
are!" 

A  station  employee  in  blue  and  brass  buttons 
was  standing  near,  and  Lester  beckoned  to  him. 

118 


The  Trap 

"Do  something  for  me,  won't  you?"  begged  Les- 
ter. "Just  tell  this  man  who  I  am." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Lester. 

Steese  gasped  again. 

"Say!"  he  exploded,  "you  don't  mean  you're 
standin'  for  it  knowin*  all  you  do!  What's  the 
game  anyway?" 

"Never  mind  what  it  is,"  replied  Lester,  "all  that's 
required  of  you  is  to  keep  off  my  premises  and  not 
annoy  your  wife.  I  warn  you  now,  if  you  so  much 
as  write  to  her,  if  you  telephone  or  approach  her 
in  any  way,  I'll  hand  you  over  to  the  police  and 
Mrs.  Mangin.  .  .  .  Do  you  wish  to  be  handed  over 
to  Mrs.  Mangin?"  asked  Lester. 

Evidently  his  shaken  victim  did  not. 

"I  don't  savvey  you,"  he  said,  his  speech  difficult ; 
"you're  a  driver,  a  regular  mandriver,  I  c'n  see  that ; 
but  y'r  game  I  don't  see  at  all !" 

"You're  not  required  to  see  it/'  Lester  responded 
evenly;  "all  that's  required  of  you,  Mr.  Steese,  or 
Mr.  Rankin,  if  you  prefer,  is  to  go  back  quietly  to 
New  York.  In  two  minutes,  there  will  be  a  train 
here;  and  I  intend  you  shall  take  it.  My  advice  to 
you  is  to  return  to  Los  Angeles." 

"Los  Angeles !"  Steese  exclaimed.  His  tone  was 
IIQ 


The  Trap 

bitter,  derisive.  "I  haven't  the  price  to  New  York ! 
I'm  flat,  stony !"  he  snarled ;  and  Lester  smiled  anew. 

"I  knew  you'd  be,  Steese,  so  I  came  prepared." 
Thrusting  a  hand  into  his  pocket  he  drew  out  a  roll 
of  banknotes.  Steese's  eyes  gleamed  hungrily  as  he 
saw  it.  "There's  two  hundred  for  you,  my  man. 
That  will  pay  your  fare  to  Los  Angeles,  buy  a  berth 
and  meals  on  the  way  besides.  It  will  also  leave 
you  something  to  dabble  away  in  bucketshops !" 

Steese  virtually  leaped  at  the  money.  Once  he 
had  it  in  his  grasp,  though,  he  looked  up  at  Lester, 
his  beady  eyes  bright  with  greed  and  cunning. 

"You  couldn't  make  it  a  hundred  more,  could 
you?"  he  asked  eagerly.  "I  spent  a  heap  getting 
here,  you  know.  You  couldn't  make  it  an  extra 
fifty,  could  you?" 

"I  could  not,"  replied  Lester  firmly;  and  the 
eagerness  dying  out  of  his  sly,  mean  features,  the 
man  scuffled  across  the  platform  toward  the  coming 
train.  Lester  watched  him  as  he  went,  the  soiled, 
seamy  frock  coat  slatting  about  the  baggy  knees; 
the  ungainly,  perpendicular  figure  all  the  more  gro- 
tesque from  the  dented  derby  perched  upon  its  head. 
As  he  clambered  on  to  a  car  platform,  and  the  train, 
gathering  way,  slid  away  from  the  Fishkill  Station, 

1 20 


The  Trap 

Steese  jammed  the  hat  forward,  his  jaw  at  the  same 
time  thrust  out  at  Lester. 

"Say,  you!  I  don't  savvey  your  game,"  he 
shouted,  "but  you'll  hear  from  me  again!" 

Lester  did  not  attempt  to  reply. 

He  walked  slowly  and  thoughtfully  from  the  sta- 
tion platform,  his  eyes  shadowy,  their  fire  gone. 
Listlessly  he  clambered  into  his  waiting  motor;  and 
turning  up  the  collar  of  his  greatcoat,  sank  back 
into  a  corner  of  the  cushioned  seat.  All  that  quiet 
force  and  vigor  he  had  shown  to  that  man  he'd  come 
to  meet  had  left  the  master  of  Ferncliffe  now,  and  in 
his  subdued,  drawn  features  a  look  of  trouble,  its 
note  sad,  had  gathered. 

"Where  to,  sir?"  asked  the  chauffeur. 

"What?  .  .  .  Oh,  drive  anywhere — take  some 
road  back  into  the  country,"  ordered  Lester. 

It  was  not  till  late — hours  afterward,  in  fact — 
that  the  motor,  splashed  with  mud  from  hood  to 
tonneau,  hove  over  the  hill  at  the  back  of  Fern- 
cliffe, and  rolled  down  the  slope  toward  the  house. 
However,  though  the  host  had  been  so  long  absent 
from  his  home,  there  were  at  least  two  among  his 
household  who  seemed  not  to  have  rated  the  length 
Df  time  he  had  been  away. 

121 


The  Trap 

With  these  two  the  time  had  not  hung  tardily. 

"Sugar?"  asked  Sally  Raeburn. 

She  picked  a  lump  from  the  chased  silver  bowl, 
the  tongs  suspended  as  she  glanced  across  the  tea 
table.  Half  past  five  had  struck,  and  she  had  just 
come  in  from  outdoors,  her  face  radiant  from  the 
walk  she'd  had  in  the  brisk  spring  air. 

An  hour  before  Mrs.  Steese  had  retired  to  her 
room.  Having  systematically  gone  the  rounds  of 
the  gardens,  greenhouse,  grounds  and  even  the 
stables,  each  extracting  from  her  an  individual  vol- 
ley of  exclamations,  the  lady  had  proclaimed  she 
must  restore  herself  with  a  nap.  Mrs.  Dewitt  also 
was  invisible.  Her  luncheon  she  had  ordered  served 
upstairs;  and  all  the  afternoon  she  had  remained 
mured  in  her  sitting-room. 

Safe  to  say,  she,  too,  had  not  been  missed. 

"Two  lumps,  please,"  said  Hastings. 

Sally  Raeburn  dropped  in  two. 

"Cream  ?"  she  inquired. 

"Please,"  he  smiled. 

She  added  the  cream ;  and  handed  the  cup  to  him. 
"See  if  that's  as  you  like  it,"  she  directed.  To  this 
Hastings  replied  gallantly:  "Thanks,  I'm  sure  it 
is." 

122 


The  Trap 

"You  said  something  about  having  been  in  the 
Orient,  Mr.  Hastings  .  .  .  Japan,  I  wonder?" 

"Japan,  China,  the  South  Seas,"  he  answered 
idly. 

She  sipped  her  tea  reflectively.  "It  must  be  won- 
derful to  have  seen  all  that.  I've  never  been  abroad." 

"Really?" 

"My  father  was  an  invalid,  you  see — too  ill  to 
travel.  Then  two  years  ago,  poor  daddy,  he  died." 

He  did  not  speak.  Apparently,  however,  she  did 
not  expect  it.  One  test  of  companionship,  in  fact,  is 
the  ability  to  communicate  even  by  silence,  by  even 
the  mere  sense  of  presence,  sympathy  and  under- 
standing. And  Hastings  had  that  faculty.  So  soon 
had  he  made  himself  companionable  to  her. 

It  is  to  be  said,  though,  that  it  had  not  been  all 
easy  sailing  for  him.  The  girl  had  not  responded 
so  readily  to  his  attention  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. Lester's  absence,  unexplained  even  by  the 
statement  that  he'd  been  called  suddenly  to  the  city, 
somehow  had  troubled  her.  Neither  Mrs.  Steese's 
assurances  nor  the  graceful  apology  Hastings  had 
made,  had  served  to  allay  her  uneasiness. 

Absorbed,  she  met  his  efforts  to  entertain  her  idly. 
Having  thanked  him  briefly,  if  brightly,  for  the 

123 


The  Trap 

flowers,  the  use  of  the  yacht  as  well,  she'd  left  him 
to  fix  herself  for  luncheon.  The  meal  was  unevent- 
ful. Mrs.  Steese's  garrulous  obligato  may  have 
astonished  him — jarred  him,  too;  but  if  so,  he  was 
too  well-bred  to  show  it.  However,  his  quiet  atten- 
tions to  the  girl  seemed  to  make  a  little  headway. 
She  was  yet  preoccupied.  Not  till  the  afternoon  was 
well  gone  had  she  awakened. 

Hastings  was  a  new  type  to  Sally  Raeburn.  Men 
she  had  known,  men  of  all  sorts,  all  dispositions, 
but  never  one  like  this.  The  gracefulness  and  deli- 
cacy of  his  air  were  unusual.  His  quiet  attractive- 
ness was  exceptional.  Contrasted  with  Lester,  with 
Lester's  blunt,  almost  brusk  directness,  the  pleasant 
suavity  of  Hastings  was  like  a  note  of  music.  How- 
ever, this  had  not  altogether  charmed  her.  Herself, 
frank,  unaffected,  she  preferred  men  of  a  more 
robust,  less  delicate  quality. 

Her  aloofness  seemed  to  nettle  Hastings.  He  re- 
doubled his  efforts  to  catch  and  hold  her  attention. 
Evidently  he  had  succeeded.  Determined  to  observe 
every  convention  at  Ferncliffe,  she  had  consented, 
though  it  was  grudgingly,  to  take  tea  with  him 
downstairs. 

She  looked  up  a  moment  over  her  cup. 
124 


The  Trap 

"I'd  give  a  great  deal  to  see  the  South  Seas,  they 
must  be  wonderful!" 

Again  the  lingering  softness  in  Hastings'  voice 
caressed  her. 

"Perhaps  some  day  you  shall,  Miss  Raeburn." 

She  smiled  vaguely.  The  "shall"  used  rather 
than  "will"  had  in  it  the  nature  of  a  veiled  promise, 
yet  she  gave  no  sign  that  she  read  its  subtlety. 
"No  such  luck,  I  imagine,"  she  returned. 

"But  perhaps  when  you — marry?"  he  suggested. 

"Marry?"  She  looked  at  him  frankly.  "Do  you 
happen  to  know  the  famous  recipe  for  hare  soup?" 
she  inquired. 

"First  catch  your  hare?"  asked  Hastings. 

"Precisely,"  she  replied. 

The  remark  conveyed  no  significance.  It  was 
purely  offhand  and  idle.  As  idly  she  offered  him 
the  platter  of  toast  that  stood  on  the  curate  beside 
her.  "Wanted :  A  wild  hare  to  take  a  lady  to  the 
South  Seas.  Object,  matrimony." 

Hastings  laughed  as  he  helped  himself  to  the 
toast. 

Her  air  was  still  inconsequential.  "Isn't  it  about 
time  Mr.  Lester  was  back?"  she  remarked. 

Hastings  had  just  nibbled  at  his  toast.  He  was 
125 


The  Trap 

about  to  reply,  but  instead  he  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion. "Oh,  I  say :  this  will  never  do !"  He  rose  and 
touched  a  bellbutton  nearby.  The  second  man  had 
served  the  tea,  but  now  it  was  Butes  who  answered. 
"Take  out  that  toast,  Butes,"  directed  Hastings; 
"it's  cold.  We  can't  eat  that !"  Butes  whisked  the 
offending  toast  from  the  table,  withdrawing  defer- 
ently  apologetic ;  and  Hastings  resumed  his  place  at 
the  tea  table.  "Sorry  to  make  such  a  fuss,"  he 
murmured ;  "the  second  man's  new  and,  I'm  afraid, 
not  very  capable." 

She  did  not  repeat  her  remark  about  Lester.  The 
little  byplay  she  had  watched  with  an  interest  rather 

close    for   so   slight   an   occurrence.     The   fact   is, 

0 

Hastings'  aplomb  as  well  as  the  deference  the  serv- 
ants paid  him  already  struck  her  attention.  She 
had  never  before  met  a  man  so  thoroughly  at  ease, 
so  evidently  accustomed  to  the  luxuries  Lester,  in 
his  carelessness  of  them,  was  notable. 

He  leaned  back,  his  cup  poised  in  a  slender  hand. 

"When  you  travel,"  said  Hastings,  picking  up 
their  broken  talk,  "you  must  see  all  the  Mediter- 
ranean, too.  I  wish  you  could  see  it  as  I  did  three 
years  ago." 

"Really?"  she  murmured. 
126 


The  Trap 

It  was  perhaps  not  just  the  reply  he'd  anticipated, 
for  he  paused  briefly.  "I  was  yachting  there,"  he 
announced. 

"Not  in  the  yacht  we  had  to-day?"  she  asked 
quickly.  Splendid  as  it  was,  the  Cyrene  seemed 
small  to  tour  the  Mediterranean. 

Hastings  smiled  as  if  at  her  naivete. 

"A  steam  yacht — one  twice  the  size.'* 

"Oh." 

She  glanced  at  him  covertly.  Hazily  she  won- 
dered if  he  meant  to  impress  her  with  his  we?lthi- 
ness.  It  seemed  unusual  in  a  man  of  his  apparent 
refinement. 

The  thought  went  as  soon  as  it  had  come. 

"You  should  see  Capri — Mentone,  Algeria,  too; 
all  those  places  as  we  saw  them,  Miss  Raeburn. 
Wonderful!" 

It  must  have  been.  It  must  be  equally  as  wonder- 
ful to  have  the  privilege  to  see  them  as  he  did.  A 
steam  yacht  .  .  .  money  .  .  .  wealth  that  was  to 
its  possessor  as  a  Magic  Carpet!  Wonderful,  yes. 
Though  she  did  not  utter  this,  she  regarded  him 
with  quickened  interest. 

He  seemed  to  divine  her  interest. 
127 


The  Trap 

"Nice,  Monte  Carlo,  Mentone,  you'd  adore  all 
that!" 

In  train  with  this  he  described  two  or  three  of  the 
famous  beauties  he'd  encountered  there,  picturing 
in  detail  their  charms,  their  gowns  especially.  His 
familiarity  with  the  niceties  of  women's  dress  was, 
in  fact,  as  particular  as  his  knowledge  of  other  re- 
finements. Tulle,  chiffon,  batiste,  all  seemed  as 
definitely  known  to  him  as  the  merits  of  a  gun  or  a 
good  dog  would  be  to  another  man.  Sally  Raeburn 
marveled  a  little  at  his  obvious  intimacy. 

"For  exquisite  toilettes,  though,"  added  Hastings, 
"give  me  Budapest." 

"You've  been  there,  too !"  she  remarked. 

Hastings  nodded  idly.  There  seemed  few  of  the 
Continental  capitals  he  had  not  seen. 

"Tell  me  about  Budapest,"  she  asked.  When 
he  inquired,  "About  the  women?  their  exquisite- 
ness  ?"  she  shook  her  head.  "Tell  me  what  the  place 
is  like." 

Hastings  told  her.  It  was  told  with  less  interest, 
less  vividness,  perhaps,  than  what  he'd  described  of 
the  gay  society,  gay  gowns,  he'd  seen  at  Nice,  Monte 
Carlo,  elsewhere.  But  to  what  he  told  she  listened 
raptly — lips  parted,  eyes  bright,  the  color  heightened 

128 


The  Trap 

in  her  cheek.  "Perfect!"  she  murmured.  To  see 
what  he  had  seen  she  hungered;  in  fancy  she  pic- 
tured it  all.  "Perfect !" 

"Oh,  I  dare  say,"  smiled  Hastings,  the  gesture 
that  went  with  it  inconsequent. 

But  the  girl  knew  definitely  he'd  seen  it.  What 
made  her  wonder  was  that  any  one  should  look  back 
on  such  opportunities  so  lightly.  It  seemed  a  char- 
acteristic of  those  who  had  wealth  to  accept  its 
benefits  as  a  matter  of  course. 

If  only  she  could  get  abroad!  If  only  she  could 
once  travel  the  Continent,  seeing  all  that  vision  of 
storied  lands  and  places  the  mere  name  of  it 
called  up  to  her!  Nice,  Naples,  Florence!  Paris, 
too!  Paris  with  its  Louvre,  its  Luxembourg,  the 
Tuileries,  Versailles,  Notre  Dame  and  the  quays  and 
bridges  of  the  Seine !  Paris !  Paris !  Paris ! 

The  light  in  the  room  was  waning.  The  second 
man  slipped  in  silently,  and  with  a  muffled  "Beg  par- 
don, sir,"  was  slipping  out  again  when  Hastings 
halted  him.  "Lights,  Judson."  Judson  lit  a  lamp 
on  the  table,  then  another  on  a  stand  in  the  corner. 
He  withdrew  then;  and  the  girl  seemed  unconscious 
either  of  his  entrance  or  exit.  Absorbed,  she  heard 
only  the  even  lingering  of  Hastings'  voice  as  he 

129 


The  Trap 

talked,  like  a  Ulysses  relating  the  tale  of  his  travels. 
And  had  she  been  Penelope,  his  hearer  could  not 
have  been  more  intent. 

She  did  not  hear  the  motor  that,  mud-streaked 
from  hood  to  tonneau,  came  purring  up  the  drive. 
She  did  not  hear  it,  either,  when  it  stopped  under 
the  porte  cochere  outside.  Nor  did  she  hear  the 
slow,  deliberate  footfall  that  tracked  along  the  hall, 
its  heaviness  deadened  in  the  depths  of  the  hall's 
thick  carpeting.  The  door  at  the  back  then  opened 
quietly. 

Lester  must  have  seen  at  a  glance  the  bright, 
pretty  picture  at  the  tea  table.  The  girl  was  sitting 
forward,  her  chin  in  her  hand  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  the  interest  she  frankly  was  displaying  now. 
Hastings  had  risen;  and  his  pose  lightly  graceful, 
he  stood  planted  or  the  rug  before  the  fireplace. 
His  back  to  the  library  door,  he,  too,  did  not  see 
Lester. 

The  host's  deep  somber  eyes  gleamed  for  an  in- 
stant but  only  that.  "Well,  had  a  pleasant  day, 
Miss  Raeburn  ?"  asked  Lester. 

She  sat  back  abruptly,  thoroughly  startled. 

"Oh !"  she  ejaculated. 

The  tea  table  escaped  perilously  from  overturning 
130 


The  Trap 

as  she  struggled  to  her  feet.  Coloring,  she  held  out 
a  hand  to  him. 

"I'm  so  glad  you're  back,"  she  said. 

"You've  enjoyed  yourself  ?"  he  asked. 

"I've  had  a  wonderful  afternoon,"  was  her  reply. 

Lester  smiled.  He  had  not  so  much  as  glanced 
at  Hastings.  At  the  host's  entrance  Hastings  had 
sung  out,  "Hello,  old  man;  home  again?";  but  not 
even  by  a  nod  or  a  gleam  of  the  eye  had  Lester 
acknowledged  his  presence.  Sauntering  to  the  table, 
Hastings  helped  himself  to  a  cigarette  and  lit  it. 
But  to  Sally  Raeburn,  Lester  could  not  have  been 
more  cordial — more  the  pleasant,  affable  host.  The 
tea  she  offered  he  declined.  Had  she  been  shown 
the  greenhouse,  the  gardens,  the  grounds  ?  Had  the 
gardener  cut  for  her  all  the  flowers  she  wished? 
Had  everything  been  as  he  would  have  wished  it  had 
he  been  there? 

Everything,  yes.  All  had  been  done  for  her. 
His  anxiety  in  her  behalf  was  charming;  and  rapidly 
she  felt  her  uneasiness  depart.  Lester  seemed  again 
the  same  frank,  almost  boyish  man  she'd  known 
when  first  they  had  met.  She  rose  regretfully  as 
the  dressing-bell  for  dinner  rang. 

"I've  had  some  fresh  flowers  just  sent  up,"  he 


The  Trap 

called  to  her  from  the  door  as  she  pattered  up  the 
stairs — "wear  them  at  dinner,  won't  you?" 

Then  he  turned  back  to  the  sitting-room. 

The  door  he  closed  behind  him.  Hastings  had 
resumed  his  place  on  the  hearthrug.  "Well,"  in- 
quired Lester,  "what  happened?" 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  even  looked  at  him. 

A  chuckle  escaped  Hastings.  The  chuckle  was 
unaffectedly  light.  His  eyes  danced  as  he  looked 
back  at  his  host. 

"Ripping,  isn't  she?  I'd  guessed  she  was  good- 
looking,  but  such  a  topper  I  didn't  dream !"  Again 
he  chuckled.  "Don't  worry  about  me,  old  man,  I'm 
in  this  to  stay  now!" 

Lester  made  no  response.  Perhaps  none  was  re- 
quired. Turning  silently  he  trudged  the  length  of 
the  sitting-room  and  went  out  by  the  doorway  at  the 
other  end.  He  was  smiling  as  he  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

But  though  he  smiled,  though  the  smile,  too,  was 
filled  with  sardonic  satisfaction,  one  could  not  but 
have  felt  sorry  for  the  man.  Never  had  he  looked 
so  regrettable — so  lonely,  so  alone. 


CHAPTER  XII 

REGRETTABLE,  yes.  Lester  had  reason  to 
look  it,  too. 
With  the  facts  as  known,  it  must  be  evi- 
dent by  now  what  the  man's  doings  involved.  But 
bizarre  and  grotesque  as  this  scheme  may  have  been, 
Lester  was  nevertheless  grimly  determined  to  see  it 
through  to  an  end.  He  was  no  daffodil.  Idle  he 
might  be,  with  care  or  concern  for  his  own  future; 
but  in  spite  of  this,  in  spite,  too,  of  the  corroding 
influence  of  his  life  of  ease  and  inconsequence,  he 
was  a  determined  character — a  man,  as  Ashe  had 
said,  who,  under  other  circumstances,  undoubtedly 
would  have  carved  a  name  for  himself  in  the  world. 
And  that  he  hadn't  had  helped  to  make  Lester  what 
he  was.  The  blind  egotism  of  his  class  he  lacked; 
and  knowing  clearly  how  little  he'd  accomplished  in 
life,  his  contempt  for  himself,  his  ineffectual  exist- 
ence, was  sweeping. 

In  short,  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  not  been  his  only  influ- 
ence. She  had  done  much  to  embitter  Lester,  but 
she  had  not  done  it  all. 

133 


The  Trap 

The  event,  that  happening  which  now  had  brought 
him  face  to  face  with  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  his  last 
peace  of  mind,  was  purely  by  accident.  His  meet- 
ing with  Sally  Raeburn  is  meant.  The  rain  that 
night  fell  in  torrents  in  Santa  Barbara;  and,  as 
Lester,  Mawsby  with  him,  emerged  from  the  hotel 
to  take  a  motor  to  the  train,  she  and  Mrs.  Steese 
were  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Steese,  as  usual,  was  in  a 
flutter.  Already  the  hotel  bus  had  gone,  and  nothing 
else  was  available. 

"We'll  be  left!"  Mrs.  Steese  was  exclaiming — 
"we'll  miss  the  train !" 

Lester  took  a  glance  at  the  girl.  She  was  trying 
with  well-bred  quiet  to  calm  Mrs.  Steese.  The  one 
glance  gave  him  his  impulse. 

"Let  me  take  you  to  the  train,"  he  offered. 

It  was  thus  he'd  fallen  in  with  them.  By  so  slight 
a  chance  had  the  man  imperiled  any  remnant  of 
repose  of  mind  he  had  left. 

The  meeting,  insignificant  in  itself,  instantly  be- 
came pregnant  with  consequences.  Sally  Raeburn 
and  Mrs.  Steese  were  bound  for  l^onterey;  Lester, 
too,  was  bound  there;  and  the  acquaintance,  so 
lightly  begun,  had  from  the  first  taken  on  a  guise 
that,  had  he  analyzed  it  then,  might  have  startled 

134 


The  Trap 

him  with  its  unforeseen  intimacy,  with  its  allure- 
ment. 

She  did  not  at  first  know  who  he  was.  She  did 
not  even  dream  his  identity.  Nor  did  Lester 
enlighten  her.  First  she  amused,  then  she  attracted 
him.  The  more  this  became  so,  the  less  willing  was 
he  to  reveal  who  and  what  he  was. 

Women  had,  in  fact,  so  long  pursued  Lester  for 
his  wealth  that  the  man  had  begun  to  believe  himself 
lacking  in  personal  charm — lacking  in  all  to  make 
himself  desirable  for  himself  alone.  Now  it  seemed 
different,  though;  and  his  heart  fired,  his  trust  in 
womankind  rekindled,  he  feared  to  destroy  the  illu- 
sion. 

No  doubt  the  world  holds  countless  men  like  this 
— creatures  of  fortune  cursing  the  barrier  that  walls 
them  off  from  sincerity;  and  feverishly  he  main- 
tained that  innocent  fraud,  his  incognito.  Mawsby, 
he  banished  temporarily.  Out  of  his  wardrobe  he 
selected  and  donned  only  the  simplest  of  attire.  Day 
after  day,  his  devotion  growing,  he  attached  himself 
to  the  girl. 

The  place,  little  used  at  the  season,  could  not  have 
suited  his  purpose  better.  He  was  in  little  danger 
of  being  seen,  recognized,  and  the  discovery  com- 

135 


The  Trap 

municated  to  the  girl  he  wooed.  The  fact  that  he 
knew  nothing  about  her  concerned  Lester  little. 
The  girl  was  well-born,  well-bred — a  lady — that  was 
enough ;  and  though  his  opinion  of  Mrs.  Steese  was 
conclusive,  her  relationship  to  the  girl  he  dismissed 
as  carelessly:  she  was  in  all  probability  merely  an 
aunt  by  marriage. 

So,  at  any  rate,  reflected  Lester.  He  was  already 
in  love  with  Sally  Raeburn. 

For  over  a  fortnight  he  continued  to  practice  his 
innocent  fraud.  If  they  drove,  motoring  the  round 
of  the  eighteen-mile  drive  at  Monterey,  it  was  not  in 
Lester's  own  costly,  imported  car  they  went.  The 
car  that  took  them  on  that  matchless  drive  along  the 
sea — across  the  downs,  over  the  dunes,  and  among 
the  groves  of  gaunt,  Scriptural  cypresses  and  cedars 
— was  a  hired  car,  a  motor  rented  at  the  hotel 
garage.  If  they  lunched,  if  they  dined,  the  luncheon 
or  dinner  at  the  Golf  Club,  Pebble  Beach  or  else- 
where was  a  modest  repast,  deftly  chosen  yet  still 
quite  unpretentious.  That  Sally  Raeburn  and  Mrs. 
Steese  had  yet  to  identify  him  he  was  confident.  In 
her  graphic  argot  Mrs.  Steese  no  doubt  termed  him 
a  "good  thing,"  an  "easy  mark,"  merely  making  use 
of  him  for  the  moment.  Of  that,  however,  never 

136 


The  Trap 

mind.  It  is  certain  that  at  a  fortnight's  end  he  had 
made  progress  with  Sally  Raeburn. 

She  liked  Lester.  She  was  struck  with  his  latent, 
quiet  force.  His  unmeaning  gruffness,  to  be  sure, 
sometimes  startled  her ;  but  when  he  liked — and  now 
was  a  time  when  he  did — he  could  make  himself 
thoroughly  friendly  and  attractive.  Apparently,  all 
he  looked  for  was  a  sign  on  her  part  to  ask  her  to 
marry  him.  Then,  in  his  part  of  Lord  of  Burleigh, 
once  she  took  him,  Lester  meant  to  disclose  who  he 
was.  How  close  he  came  to  that  is  not  clear.  Ere 
it  happened,  the  bubble  burst. 

It  was  Mrs.  Steese  who  pricked  it. 

One  might  moralize  on  this.  The  fact  that  the 
prize  she  sought  so  desperately  she  held  in  her  grasp 
only  to  destroy  it  clumsily  is  another  of  those  evi- 
dences how  Fate,  sporting  with  chances,  makes  a 
jest  of  human  plans.  The  grim  humor  of  this, 
though,  would  have  been  lost  on  Mrs.  Steese.  It 
would  have  been  lost,  too,  on  Sally  Raeburn. 

She  and  Lester  had  been  off  on  a  walk  together. 
All  the  morning  they  had  wandered  the  hilly 
woods  that  lead  to  Carmel,  emerging  by  luncheon- 
time  at  Pebble  Beach.  Afterward  they  had  sought 
the  shore,  seeking  a  rocky  point  that  jutted  out  into 

137 


The  Trap 

the  creamy  wash  of  the  breakers,  the  roll  of  seas  that 
came  heaving  in  out  of  the  open  Pacific,  slow,  deep, 
profound,  its  depths  as  azure  as  the  sky.  On  a 
ledge  of  rock  she  perched  herself,  hands  in  lap, 
fingers  lightly  laced,  her  eyes  dwelling  in  a  revery 
on  the  incomparable  magnitude  and  magnificence  of 
that  bit  of  West  Coast  scenery. 

Lester  threw  himself  down  beside  her. 

"Tell  me  about  yourself,"  he  begged. 

She  told  him  much.  No  effort  was  evident  on 
her  part  to  conceal  her  origin — who  she  was,  who 
her  parents  had  been,  where  she  had  been  brought 
up.  She  even  related  the  tragedy  of  her  father's 
death — how  he  had  died,  penniless,  leaving  her  to  her 
own  resources.  To  this  she  added  a  hint  of  what 
had  followed — the  changed  surroundings,  the 
struggle  to  exist,  the  sordid  life  in  boarding-house 
and  lodging-house.  That  hunger  had  gone  with  it, 
distress,  temptation,  too,  she  did  not  tell.  Still,  she 
had  told  enough ;  and  quick  to  guess,  Lester  breathed 
deeply,  his  eyes  softening. 

It  was  like  Manon  and  des  Grieux.  It  was  like 
Aucassin  listening  to  Nicollette. 

"You  poor  little  girl !"  he  whispered. 

Reaching  out,  he  touched  her  softly  on  the  hand. 
138 


The  Trap 

That  time  she  did  not  recoil;  his  hand  she  suffered 
to  touch  hers.  The  touch  comforted  her. 

"Then  your  aunt  found  you,  did  she?"  he  asked. 

Her  aunt?  She  stiffened  abruptly.  The  color 
went  from  her  face,  then  surged  back  into  it  again, 
a  tide  of  crimson.  She  rose  hurriedly. 

"Don't  go,"  begged  Lester. 

But  the  spell  had  been  broken. 

It  was  two  days  later  that  he  first  marked  a  change 
in  her.  She  seemed  all  at  once  less  frank,  less 
direct,  as  if  some  imperceptible  barrier  had  raised 
itself  between  them.  Not  that  she  rebuffed  him — 
the  contrary  rather.  But  that  something  had  hap- 
pened he  knew. 

That  week  the  bubble  burst. 

Again  Lester  and  Sally  Raeburn  had  been  off  on  a 
jaunt  together.  As  they  strolled  up  the  hotel  path, 
Mrs.  Steese  came  flying  forth,  bugling  as  she  came. 

"My,  but  you're  the  sly  puss,  you  are!  What  a 
trick  to  play  on  an  innocent  party !" 

She  had  in  her  hand  a  weekly  periodical,  one  of 
those  purulent  scandalmongering  sheets  that  persist 
by  furnishing  social  detritus  to  women  of  Mrs. 

139 


The  Trap 

Steese's  type;  this  she  gayly  waved  at  him.  "See 
what  it  says !"  she  proclaimed. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  vanity  had  the  better  of 
her  discretion.  It  was  the  first  time,  even  if  indi- 
rectly, that  she  had  figured  in  its  columns.  She  was 
exuberant  and  evidently  excited. 

The  paragraph  was  brief  and,  of  its  sort,  nause- 
ating. 

The  New  York  friends  of  that  exclusive  and  much 
sought-after  bachelor,  Henry  Lester,  heir  to  the  Lester 
millions,  will  be  interested  to  hear  that  Mr.  Lester  has 
not  departed  for  the  Orient  as  was  intimated  he  would 
several  weeks  ago;  instead,  he  is  now  cloistered  in  the 
season's-end  solitude  of  nearby  Monterey.  Mr.  Lester's 
monastic  habits  are  quite  familiar  to  his  intimates ;  but  in 
this  instance,  it  seems,  is  not  exactly  what  he  is  pursuing. 
Dame  Gossip  would  not  be  astonished  if  eventful  news 
were  impending. 

"You  didn't  fool  us  as  much  as  you  think, 
though !"  Mrs.  Steese  cried  gayly.  "I  knew  it  a  week 
ago,  but — but " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  confused  that  she  had 
given  herself  away. 

"But  what  ?"  prompted  Lester. 

Lamely,  Mrs.  Steese  replied  that  she  would  not 
have  spoken  of  it  if  it  hadn't  appeared  in  the  paper. 

Lester  turned  to  Sally  Raeburn.  "Did  you  know 
140 


The  Trap 

it,  too?"  he  asked  quietly;  and  for  a  second  time  he 
saw  her  turn  white. 

Yes,  she  had  known,  too;  but  Lester's  dream,  if 
shattered,  had  not  vanished  utterly;  its  fragments 
still  remained.  Desperately  he  strove  to  piece  them 
together.  This  he  did  by  still  striving  to  convince 
himself  she  had  really  cared  for  him  before  she 
learned  of  his  wealth. 

Every  speech,  every  look  he'd  had  from  her  Lester 
recalled  to  memory,  seeking  to  analyze  the  speech 
or  look.  It  was  his  effort,  in  short,  to  prove  she  had 
cared  for  the  unknown  Henry  Lester,  the  man  who 
had  only  himself,  not  his  millions,  to  commend  him. 
It  was  no  use.  It  was  less  use  once  he  had  joined 
her  again  at  dinner. 

The  change  in  her  was  pronounced  now.  She 
had  become  restrained,  preoccupied.  It  was  not  for 
long,  though.  As  if  she'd  realized  the  change  in 
him,  too,  the  next  morning  she  strove  to  regain  the 
ground  she'd  lost.  Gay,  feverishly  brilliant,  she 
sought  by  every  art  known  to  woman  to  make  her- 
self alluring. 

Lester's  heart  sank  itself  in  gloom. 

Then  rage  got  him.  The  more  the  girl  seemed 
to  throw  herself  at  his  head,  the  more  his  rancor 

141 


The  Trap 

rose.  He  would  have  laughed  had  he  not  loved  her 
so.  That  was  it !  He  wanted  her  as  he'd  wanted  no 
woman  before;  and  instead  of  smiling  as  he'd  smiled 
countless  times  before  at  the  efforts  of  women  to 
beguile  him,  he  was  angered  now.  They  were  all 
alike,  these  women!  They  were  all  heartless,  self- 
seeking — vicious  in  their  hunt  for  what  they  wanted ! 
Still,  Lester  lingered  at  Monterey.  Daily  he  tor- 
tured himself  by  seeing  her;  daily  his  smoldering 
rage  fanned  itself  into  flame.  Then  a  hint,  a  shrewd 
guess,  of  what  Mrs.  Steese  and  her  putative  niece 
were  up  to  burst  on  him;  and  cold  with  it,  he  set 
himself  to  learn  the  truth. 

It  was  readily  available.  Mawsby,  recalled  from 
inactivity,  was  dispatched  to  San  Francisco;  there, 
with  the  facts  at  hand — the  same  facts  the  girl  her- 
self had  furnished — the  fraud  of  her  kinship  to 
Mrs.  Steese  was  instantly  unveiled.  They  were  in 
no  way  related.  Mrs.  Steese  had  found  Sally  Rae- 
burn  starving  in  a  lodging-house ;  and  struck  by  her 
beauty  had  suggested  she  become  her  companion. 
She  had  also  suggested  that  perhaps  in  their  travels 
Sally  might  find  a  husband. 

Every  girl  seeks  a  husband — no  harm  in  that. 
But  that  the  husband,  perforce,  must  be  rich  Mrs. 

142 


The  Trap 

Steese  did  not  at  first  intimate.  That  was  reserved 
till  later — in  short,  when  by  a  long,  systematic  and 
subtle  campaign  she  had  broken  down  her  com- 
panion's scruples.  Clothes,  board  and  lodging,  the 
expenses  of  traveling  too,  Mrs.  Steese  would  pro- 
vide. Then,  when  Sally  captured  her  millionaire, 
she  was  to  give  Mrs.  Steese  a  rake-off. 

And  the  girl,  unwittingly  or  otherwise,  had  fallen 
for  it ! 

It  was  from  Steese,  the  husband,  this  was  gleaned. 
Steese  was  located  in  San  Francisco.  Happening  to 
be  tight  at  the  time,  Steese  had  accommodatingly 
divulged  it  all. 

Lester  could  not  believe  it. 

Even  with  the  proof  in  his  hands — Steese's  admis- 
sions as  well  as  a  complete  detail  of  their  campaigns 
at  Santa  Barbara,  Los  Angeles,  San  Diego  and 
Coronado,  he  still  could  not  think  the  woman  he 
loved  so  conscienceless.  He  still  loved  her,  still 
wanted  her.  If  at  any  instant  of  that  time  she  had 
given  him  one  clear  sign  she  really  loved  him,  he 
still  would  have  flung  himself  and  his  fortune  at  her 
feet.  That  was  why  he'd  brought  her  to  New  York. 
That  was  why  he'd  been  in  such  feverish  haste  to 

143 


The  Trap 

have  her  at  dinner  in  Fitzhugh  Square.  It  was  to 
give  her  one  last  chance  to  prove  herself. 

She  had  done  it,  too.    So  he  thought  at  any  rate. 

Once  again  that  night  of  the  dinner,  Sally  Rae- 
burn  had  seemed  to  show  herself  frankly  straight- 
forward and  friendly;  and  he  had  throbbed  in 
response.  It  was  this  that  had  animated  him  in  the 
library.  Whether  she  cared  for  him  or  not  he  did 
not  know,  but  now  he  was  determined  to  put  it  to  a 
test. 

The  rest  is  known.  When  Lester,  his  emotion 
getting  the  better  of  him,  had  tried  to  take  her  in 
his  arms — when,  too,  the  girl  unexpecting  it,  had 
shrunk  startled  from  him — that  had  settled  it.  She 
had  tricked  him — of  that  he  was  confident.  She 
meant  only  to  marry  him  for  his  money.  .  .  .  Very 
well,  trickery  being  the  case,  it  was  a  game  two  could 
play  at!  That  was  why,  in  a  torment  of  rage,  of 
defeated  hope,  Lester  had  set  a  trap  for  Sally  Rae- 
burn. 

He  was  determined  to  punish  her.  He  meant  to 
serve  the  girl  as  he  would  like  to  serve  every  heart- 
less, venal  woman  he  knew. 

For  this  reason  he  had  been  at  pains  to  head  off 
Steese.  Mrs.  Steese  having  given  her  spouse  the 

144 


The  Trap 

slip  in  the  city,  Steese  had  pursued  her  by  train.  It 
was  his  plan,  no  doubt,  to  worm  money  out  of  his 
wife;  but  Lester  took  no  chances.  Steese,  if  allowed 
to  get  to  Ferncliffe,  might  frighten  the  bird  ere  the 
trap  was  sprung. 

Now  the  trap  was  set  and  baited.    The  bird,  too, 
was  approaching  the  snare. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HALF-PAST  seven  was  the  dinner  hour  at 
Ferncliffe;  and  a  few  minutes  before  the 
second  man  came  upstairs  to  announce  it, 
the  door  of  Sally  Raeburn's  room  opened,  and  she 
appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Mrs.  Steese  was 
with  her.  Sally  had  been  ready  ten  minutes  or  so 
before  this,  but  for  some  reason  she  had  seemed  in 
no  hurry  to  go  downstairs. 

Her  air  was  composed.  All  the  way  from  the  city 
she  had  been  filled  with  an  uneasiness  that,  almost 
apprehensive,  made  her  dread  her  arrival  at  Fern- 
cliffe. It  was  the  same  dread  she  had  expressed  to 
Mrs.  Steese  the  day  before.  Nor  had  the  discovery 
that  Lester  was  absent  relieved  the  forebodings  she 
felt.  What  she  dreaded  she  couldn't  have  told, 
though  her  uneasiness  was  not  lessened  by  that. 
Now,  however,  all  or  most  of  it  had  gone.  Lester's 
frank  cordiality  had  been  exceptional. 

Sally's  spirits  had  risen  accordingly.  Singing  to 
herself,  she  had  dressed  and  was  about  to  open  her 

146 


The  Trap 

door,  when  she  heard  Hastings'  voice  in  the  hall. 
Hastings  was  giving  some  instructions  to  his  valet; 
and  changing  her  mind,  she  retraced  her  steps  to  the 
dressing-glass.  She  was  still  regarding  herself  in 
the  mirror,  when  Mrs.  Steese  appeared  at  the  door 
communicating  to  her  room.  "Why  don't  you  go 
down,  Sally?"  she  asked.  "I'll  wait  for  you,"  was 
Sally's  answer. 

She  was  still  humming  to  herself  as  she  turned 
away  from  the  glass.  "Let's  see  how  you  look,"  she 
murmured  as  she  crossed  the  room  to  Mrs.  Steese. 
It  was  not  often  she  displayed  interest  in  her  com- 
panion's appearance;  and  Mrs.  Steese's  eyes  showed 
her  wonder.  She  submitted,  however,  to  the  girl's 
inspection.  "Come  here  a  moment,"  directed  Sally. 
Still  humming  lightly,  she  led  Mrs.  Steese  to  the 
dressing-table,  and  seated  her  on  the  settee  before  the 
glass.  "What' re  you  going  to  do?"  asked  the  lady, 
still  a  little  wondering. 

"Fix  your  hair,"  was  the  response. 

With  deft  fingers,  she  arranged  and  rearranged 
Mrs.  Steese's  somewhat  formidable  array  of  puffs 
and  braids,  readjusting  them  fore  and  aft.  Mrs. 
Steese  protested  wildly  at  first;  her  coiffure  having 
cost  her  an  hour's  effort  she  was  vain  of  its  appear- 


TRe  Trap 

ance.  To  these  protests,  however,  Sally  paid  no 
heed.  "There !"  she  murmured  as  she  finished ;  and 
even  Mrs.  Steese,  after  she'd  studied  herself  in  the 
glass,  admitted  grudgingly  it  was  an  improvement. 

This  was  not  all.  After  the  hair,  Sally  went  at 
Mrs.  Steese's  costume.  The  dress  she  jabbed  and 
twitched  here  and  there ;  and  when  she  had  arranged 
this  to  her  satisfaction,  she  reached  up  and  calmly 
removed  the  glittering  sunburst  Mrs.  Steese  had 
pinned  on  her  corsage. 

Mrs.  Steese  gave  a  cry  of  alarm.  To  her  mind 
the  sunburst  was  the  culminating  effect  in  her 
toilette;  but  Sally  only  smiled.  "It's  imitation,  and 
every  one  can  see  it  is,"  she  announced,  tossing  the 
ornament  into  a  nearby  drawer. 

"Say,  what's  the  plot?"  inquired  Mrs.  Steese  in 
her  usual  periphrase. 

"No  plot,"  was  the  calm  rejoinder — "I  wish  you 
to  look  well,  that's  all." 

"Kind  o'  sudden,  ain't  it?"  remarked  Mrs.  Steese, 
suspiciously. 

More  than  suspicious,  though,  she  was  evidently 
aggrieved  at  the  imputation  put  on  her  taste.  "I 
guess  I  know  what's  swell  as  well  as  you,"  she  ob- 
served icily;  but  Sally  seemed  to  heed  this  as  little 

148 


The  Trap 

as  Mrs.  Steese's  other  remarks.  She  was  giving 
herself  another  brief  survey  in  the  glass;  and  when 
Mrs.  Steese  finished,  she  sauntered  over  to  the 
dressing-table,  and  began  shutting  the  opened 
drawers.  "I  wish  you'd  remember  something,"  said 
Sally,  her  tone  casual;  "we  don't  know  any  of  the 
people  you're  always  talking  about,  and  Mr.  Lester 
and  the  others  know  we  don't.  If  I  were  you  I'd 
choose  some  other  topic." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Mrs.  Steese. 

"Just  what  I  said,"  was  the  calm  response,  "the 
more  you  talk  of  them  the  more  you  give  us  both 
away.  We  haven't  been  invited  here  because  of  our 
social  connections." 

"You  don't  say!"  retorted  Mrs.  Steese. 

She  was  quite  angry  now ;  but  Sally  did  not  seem 
to  heed  that,  either.  "We  mustn't  make  ourselves 
ridiculous,"  she  added. 

"Ridiculous  ?"    Mrs.  Steese's  face  flushed. 

"Speak  for  yourself !"  she  observed  angrily. 

"I  am  speaking  for  myself,"  the  girl  returned 
smilingly.  "I'm  here  for  a  purpose,  and  I'll  be 
frank.  I  don't  wish  anything  to  interfere  with  it. 
I  don't  suppose  you  do  either,  do  you?"  she  asked. 
Mrs.  Steese,  however,  seemed  now  so  irritated  that 

149 


The  Trap 

she  was  little  in  the  mood  to  discuss  the  situation 
passively. 

"A-  purpose,  eh  ?"  she  repeated.  "Seems  to  me 
you've  grown  pretty  blunt  about  it  all  at  once! 
What's  changed  you  so  suddenly?" 

"Nothing's  changed  me,"  was  the  answer;  "I'm 
just  being  frank.  Frank  with  myself,  frank  with 
you." 

"Are  you?  Well,  you  c'n  save  yourself  the 
trouble."  Through  her  glasses,  she  glanced  at  Sally 
suspiciously.  "I  don't  get  you  somehow.  A  while 
ago  you  were  that  prim  and  innocent,  butter  wouldn't 
melt  in  your  mouth.  Now  you  talk  as  if  we're  up  to 
some  game  in  this  house." 

"Well,  we  are,  aren't  we?"  rejoined  the  girl. 
"We  can't  deny  it,  can  we?" 

It  was  curious  to  note  Mrs.  Steese's  anger.  It 
was  curious  to  hear  her  reply.  Perhaps  vanity  was 
at  the  bottom  of  her  feeling.  Having  found  herself 
ensconced  at  Ferncliffe,  she  may  have  felt  she  was 
entitled  to  be  there. 

"Deny  it?  Yes,  I  deny  it.  I  don't  see  any  game 
in  our  being  here!" 

"In  hunting  a  man  for  his  money?" 

"Who  says  we're  hunting  him?  He  asked  us 
150 


The  Trap 

here,  didn't  he?  If  you  mean  you're  going  to  marry 
Lester,  I  don't  see  any  game  in  that,  either.  Every 
girl  is  looking  for  a  husband,  isn't  she?" 

The  ancient  argument.     Sally  quietly  smiled. 

"Yes,  but  to  hunt  him  down  for  his  money? — 
to  marry  him  only  for  that?  .  .  .  But  what's  the 
use  of  discussing  it?"  she  remarked.  "The  point  is, 
I've  made  up  my  mind  now.  My  plans  are  formed 
and,  if  I  can  help  it,  I  don't  mean  to  have  anything 
go  amiss." 

In  spite  of  her  vexation,  the  anger  of  offended 
vanity,  Mrs.  Steese's  eyes  lit. 

"So  you  intend  to  get  Lester!"  she  exclaimed. 

Sally's  answer  was  ambiguous. 

"What  I  said  was,  I'd  made  my  plans,"  was  her 
reply. 

Mrs.  Steese  tried  again.  "Yes,  but  if  you  don't 
get  him,"  she  persisted,  "what  are  you  going  to  do 
then?" 

Sally  looked  at  her  quietly. 

"If  I  don't  get  him,  I  mean  to  get  some  one  else," 
she  answered. 

She  opened  the  door  then,  and  made  her  way  to- 
ward the  stairs.  Mrs.  Steese  followed  in  her  wake. 

She  was  not  only  baffled,  she  was  startled  now. 


The  Trap 

The  sudden  change,  Sally's  blunt  admission  of  pur- 
pose, filled  Mrs.  Steese  with  wonder.  It  was  like 
Sally  to  be  frank;  it  was  not  like  her,  however,  to 
be  so  brutally  blunt.  But  that  Sally  was  confident 
she  could  capture  Lester  was  evident.  Her  air  was 
sure  as  she  sauntered  down  the  stairs  to  the  living- 
room. 

The  room  was  already  occupied.  Mr.  Hastings 
occupied  his  usual  position  on  the  hearthrug;  and 
near  at  hand,  the  firelight  playing  on  her  handsome 
features,  Mrs.  Dewitt  was  seated,  smiling  up  at  him 
as  he  talked. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MS.    DEWITT   had   come    down   early. 
The  headache  the  lady  had  pleaded  as  an 
excuse  to  have  her  luncheon  sent  up- 
stairs seemed  to  have  left  her  now;  and  herself  again, 
she  was  as   self-possessed,   quietly   self-poised,   as 
ever.      If   the   morning's   agitated    interview   with 
Lester  had  left  any  traces,  they  were  not  evident. 

Hastings  she  had  never  met  before.  However, 
having  wandered  into  the  sitting-room  a  few  minutes 
previously,  it  had  needed  only  these  few  minutes  to 
make  clear  to  her  that  Hastings  was  of  a  different 
order  than  the  household's  other  guests,  Mrs.  Steese 
especially.  The  reason  for  her  own  presence  was 
equally  a  mystery.  In  spite  of  the  fact,  however, 
that  she  had  divined  Lester's  interest  in  Sally 
Raeburn,  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  not  lost  the  hope  of 
regaining  him.  Another  thing,  too :  Lester's  former 
love  had  had  a  premonition  of  his  present  affair.  A 
kind  friend,  the  kind  of  kind  friend  that  the  world 
seems  filled  with,  had  mailed  her  from  San  Fran- 

153 


The  Trap 

cisco  a  clipping  that  gave  her  a  hint.  The  clipping 
was  that  same  nauseating  paragraph  that  had 
pricked  the  bubble  in  Lester's  hopes.  It  was  the 
cause,  too,  .of  her  concern  the  day  Lester  returned 
abruptly  to  New  York.  That  was  why  she  had 
written  that  agitated  note  to  Ashe. 

But  this  young  man  .  .  .  !  It  had  not  taken 
Mrs.  Dewitt  long  to  grasp  his  attractiveness;  and 
if  Lester  was,  indeed,  so  epris  with  this  girl  from  the 
west,  why  had  he  tempted  providence  by  throwing 
Hastings  in  her  company. 

The  thought  absorbed  Mrs.  Dewitt.  It  grew 
further  absorbing  when  she  discerned  that  Hastings 
must  be  a  person  of  wealth.  The  fact,  idly  men- 
tioned, that  the  yacht  moored  off  Ferncliffe  was  his, 
first  suggested  it.  The  added  information  that  he 
had  toured  the  Orient,  the  Mediterranean,  too, 
clinched  the  impression.  Her  inability  to  connect 
him  with  any  family  of  his  name  in  New  York  or 
Philadelphia,  was  answered,  too,  by  his  statement 
that  he'd  spent  much  of  his  life  abroad. 

However,  it  was  not  "Why  was  he?"  It  was 
rather  "What  was  he  doing  there?"  Mrs.  Dewitt 
was  inclined  to  find  out.  In  this,  though,  she  had 
not  progressed  far,  when  there  was  a  step  on  the 

154 


The  Trap 

stair,  a  sound  of  voices  and  Sally  and  Mrs.  Steese 
entered  the  living-room. 

Hastings  was  at  once  reanimated.  The  question 
Mrs.  Dewitt  was  murmuring,  "The  Cathcarts,  were 
they  at  Biarritz  when  you  were?"  Hastings  left 
unanswered.  Cathcart  and  his  wife,  Boston  people, 
were  friends  of  Mrs.  Dewitt,  but  she  was  less  inter- 
ested in  hearing  of  them  than  in  gaining  a  clue  to 
Hastings'  connection.  The  way  Hastings,  however, 
welcomed  Sally  Raeburn  added  to  Mrs.  Dewitt's 
interest.  She  was  still  remarking  this  when  further 
study  was  cut  short  by  Mrs.  Steese.  Observing  Mrs. 
Dewitt,  Mrs.  Steese  projected  herself  gayly  toward 
her. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Steese's  vanity  again  was  tickled. 
Mrs.  Dewitt's  position,  in  its  way,  was  exalted ;  and 
to  show  herself  on  terms  of  acquaintance  with  the 
socially  elevated  must  have  been  an  event  in  the 
lady's  cosmos.  Certainly  she  made  use  of  it  now. 
Her  hand  outstretched,  her  face  beaming,  she 
bustled  toward  Mrs.  Dewitt  gushing  cordiality  as  she 
went. 

There  was  a  surprise  then.  The  surprise  was  that 
Mrs.  Dewitt  did  not  rebuff  her.  She  rose  pleas- 
antly. She  smilingly  accepted  Mrs.  Steese's  out- 

155 


The  Trap 

stretched  hand.  She  responded  as  agreeably  to  Mrs. 
Steese's  effusive  interrogation.  "Nice  to  see  you 
again,  Miss  Raeburn,"  smiled  Mrs.  Dewitt. 

Sally  responded  quietly  in  kind.  A  friendly  girl, 
whatever  else  she  might  be  thought,  she  was  always 
glad  when  others  were  as  friendly.  As  it  happened, 
though,  there  was  one  person  from  whose  eye  this 
camouflage  of  unexpected  friendliness  hid  nothing. 
It  was  the  host. 

Lester  had  just  entered.  He  came  from  the 
library  at  the  back ;  and  entering  silently,  he  had  for 
a  moment  been  an  interested  observer  of  the  little 
comedy.  But  Lester's  face  showed  nothing  out  of 
the  ordinary  as  he  sauntered  toward  his  guests — 
nothing  unless  it  was  his  air  of  pleasant  friendly 
cordiality.  "Evening,  every  one,"  he  greeted. 

The  talk  resumed  itself  in  the  living-room.  Mrs. 
Steese,  encouraged  by  Mrs.  Dewitt's  indulgence, 
seated  herself  beside  the  fireplace,  determined  to 
cement  the  new  friendship  Mrs.  Dewitt  showed. 
Hastings  was  still  talking  to  Sally.  They,  too,  were 
seated.  The  host,  however,  seemed  to  prefer  to 
keep  his  feet.  Rather  aimlessly,  he  wandered  from 
one  corner  of  the  room  to  the  other,  staring  at  the 
pictures,  fussing  and  fumbling  with  the  bric-a-brac, 

156 


The  Trap 

turning  the  pages  of  the  books  and  periodicals  on 
the  table.  "Sit  down,  Harry,"  Mrs.  Dewitt  directed, 
"you  make  me  nervous,  fidgeting !" 

Lester  idly  laughed. 

"Sit  here,  won't  you  ?"  asked  Sally. 

She  was  seated  on  a  broad  tapestry  sofa  that 
flanked  the  big  fireplace  opposite  the  sofa  on  which 
Mrs.  Dewitt  and  Mrs.  Steese  were  seated;  and  as 
she  spoke  she  moved  to  make  room  for  him.  Again 
he  began  aimlessly  to  rearrange  the  things  on  the 
center-table ;  and  a  moment  later  the  manservant 
entered  bearing  a  tray  of  glasses.  The  tray  he 
offered  to  the  ladies,  Mrs.  Dewitt  and  Sally  declin- 
ing, Mrs.  Steese  accepting.  "Martinis !  Oh,  I  adore 
them!"  she  proclaimed.  Hastings,  too,  took  one. 
Lester,  when  the  tray  was  offered  him,  waved  the 
man  away.  Then  he  seated  himself.  It  was  not  the 
seat  by  Sally  he  took,  however.  He  sat  down  by 
Mrs.  Dewitt. 

Across  the  rug  Hastings  was  still  talking  to  Sally. 

It  was  of  his  new  car  he  was  talking  now.  The 
car,  in  the  face  of  all  its  perfection,  was  apparently 
not  what  he'd  expected  of  it.  The  engine  seemed 
a  little  stiff,  not  so  flexible  as  it  might  be.  Probably 
it  would  take  him  a  fortnight  or  so  to  get  it  limber. 

157 


The  Trap 

Perhaps  Miss  Raeburn  might  like  a  run  in  it  on  the 
morrow  ? 

She  said  "Thanks."  His  offer  she  did  not  accept, 
though. 

Hastings  tried  again. 

"The  drive  over  the  hill  is  delightful.  The  view 
from  the  crest  is  wonderful." 

"Is  it?"  she  asked  aimlessly. 

She  was  not  particularly  interested  in  either  the 
invitation  or  what  the  scenery  offered.  Besides  by 
now  Sally  was  determined  to  let  no  convention  go 
unobserved  while  she  was  at  Ferncliffe.  A  new  view 
of  things  had  dawned  on  her  during  the  day.  In 
looking  back  to  the  days  she  had  spent  with  Lester 
at  Monterey,  the  days  especially  after  Mrs.  Steese 
had  shown  him  the  paragraph  in  that  paper,  she 
had  seen  how  far  she  had  gone  wrong  in  her  treat- 
ment of  Lester.  How  she  had  flung  herself  at  his 
head  she  remembered;  and  the  mere  thought  of  it 
made  her  blush.  What  must  he  have  thought  of 
her !  One  way  or  the  other,  she  was  determined  to 
do  nothing  like  that  again.  A  drive  with  Hastings 
meant  nothing  out  of  the  way,  perhaps,  but  now 
Sally  was  on  her  guard. 

Hastings  still  persisted. 

158 


The  Trap 

"If  it's  fine  to-morrow,"  he  suggested,  "I  could 
run  you  out  and  back  by  luncheon." 

"Thanks,"  she  replied  again,  "but  Mr.  Lester  may 
have  planned  something  else." 

It  appeared  that  Lester  hadn't.  A  veiled  smile 
was  in  Hastings'  eyes  as  he  assured  her  so.  Lester, 
in  the  morning,  was  again  going  up  to  town. 

"Going  to  town?"  Sally  repeated. 

Hastings  nodded.  "Beastly  luck,  isn't  it?  Lester 
has  some  business  there — urgent  business,  I  believe. 
I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  I  hardly  think  we'll  see 
much  of  him  daytimes  for  a  while." 

She  did  not  speak.  Her  eyes  wandered  across  the 
hearthrug  to  where  Lester  sat.  Mrs.  Steese  had 
risen,  glass  in  hand;  preparatory  to  setting  down 
the  glass,  she  was  just  draining  the  last  drops. 
Lester,  leaning  toward  Mrs.  Dewitt,  had  lowered  his 
voice  to  say  something.  It  was  not  so  lowered, 
though,  that  Sally  could  not  catch  what  he  was  say- 
ing. "You'd  be  there  by  ten,  Fanny,"  he  was  say- 
ing; "that  would  be  time  to  do  your  shopping,  then 
we  could  take  luncheon  somewhere." 

Hastings  was  still  speaking.  "If  you'd  prefer  it, 
though,  we  can  take  a  run  during  the  afternoon." 

Sally  was  spared  the  necessity  of  answering, 
159 


The  Trap 

Butes  at  that  instant  announced  dinner,  and  she  rose 
hastily  with  the  others. 

The  dinner  was  uneventful.  Lester,  his  air  light, 
still  the  pleasant,  cheerful  host,  ushered  them  into 
the  dining-room.  In  the  same  agreeable  manner 
he  arranged  them  at  the  table.  "Mrs.  Steese,  you 
sit  there,  please.  Miss  Raeburn,  will  you  sit  over 
there?  Hastings,  you  know  your  place."  Then  he 
turned  to  Mrs.  Dewitt.  "Sit  here,  Fanny,"  he 
directed.  They  all  seated  themselves.  Immediately 
afterward,  Lester  broke  into  conversation,  his  tone 
and  speech  still  light,  still  unaffected. 

Sally  said  little.  Absorbed,  she  sat  silent  through 
most  of  the  dinner,  answered  only  with  an  effort 
Hastings'  unsparing  attempts  to  entertain  her.  She 
could  not  help  it,  but  all  her  attention  was  centered 
on  the  host  and  Mrs.  Dewitt.  She  and  Lester  were 
laughing  and  chatting  together.  Mrs.  Steese  was 
thoroughly  out  of  it. 

Sally's  heart  sank  lower  and  lower. 

It  was  not  only  that  Lester  was  taking  Mrs. 
Dewitt  to  lunch  in  town  with  him ;  the  distress  the 
girl  felt  was  added  to  by  something  else.  She  had 
counted  on  sitting  next  to  Lester  at  dinner;  and  in 
this  she  had  been  doomed  to  disappointment. 

160 


The  Trap 

Lester  not  only  had  placed  Mrs.  Dewitt  next  to  him, 
he  had  made  a  point  of  doing  so. 

Late  that  evening  the  door  of  the  room  adjoining 
Mrs.  Steese's  was  opened  quietly,  and  at  the  noise, 
slight  as  it  was,  Mrs.  Steese  awoke  from  a  dose. 
She  had  gone  to  bed  early.  After  dinner,  Mrs. 
Dewitt  had  continued  her  talk  with  the  host;  and 
suffering  in  silence  till  she  could  suffer  no  more, 
she  had  withdrawn.  However,  having  been  roused 
from  sleep,  she  cried  out  in  alarm :  "Who's  there?" 

"It's  I,"  was  the  response. 

"What  you  doing?"  asked  Mrs.  Steese. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Sally;  and  Mrs.  Steese  sat 
up  in  bed. 

"Come  in  here,"  she  directed.  Sally,  as  directed, 
came  in,  and  Mrs.  Steese  turned  on  the  light.  "Did 
Lester  say  anything?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"No,"  Sally  answered  evenly,  "he  didn't  say  a 
word." 

"He  didn't  ?"  Mrs.  Steese  returned.  "Well,  where 
have  you  been  then  all  the  time?" 

"I've  been  out  on  the  veranda  with  Mr.  Hastings," 
answered  Sally.  "I'm  going  for  a  drive  with  him 
to-morrow  in  his  car." 

161 


CHAPTER  XV 

SHE  had  been  out  on  the  veranda  with  Hast- 
ings, she  was  going  to  drive  with  him  in  his 
car.    Though  on  the  surface  this  was  noth- 
ing particularly  significant,  Mrs.  Steese  was  quick 
to  take  alarm. 

"You're  going  to  do  what?"  she  ejaculated.  As 
she  sat  up  in  bed,  she  looked  almost  aghast. 

Hastings'  attention  to  Sally  had  not  escaped  Mrs. 
Steese;  and  though  at  first  this  had  filled  her  with 
gratification,  Lester's  sudden  devotion  to  Mrs. 
Dewitt  ere  long  had  dawned  on  her.  She  had  no 
love  for  Mrs.  Dewitt.  She  might  fawn  on  her 
fellow-guest;  but  suspecting  shrewdly  Mrs.  Dewitt 
was  a  dangerous  competitor,  she  felt  for  her  dislike 
and  distrust.  That  was  why  Hastings'  attention 
alarmed  her.  Hastings  was  rich  of  course — or  so 
she  thought;  and  with  Lester,  as  she  also  thought, 
so  nearly  landed,  she  was  in  terror  of  complication. 

"Look  here,"  she  demanded,  "do  you  want  to  mix 
up  everything?" 

162 


The  Trap 

"Things  are  already  mixed  as  it  is,"  returned 
Sally ;  "Mr.  Lester  is  going  again  to  the  city  in  the 
morning,  and  Mrs.  Dewitt  is  going  with  him." 

Mrs.  Steese's  alarm  increased.  With  it  increased 
her  dislike  of  Mrs.  Dewitt. 

"I  knew  that  woman  was  up  to  no  good!"  she 
exclaimed. 

Sally  smiled  thoughtfully. 

"None  of  us  are,"  she  returned — "we're  all  with- 
out heart  or  feeling,  I  think." 

But  Mrs.  Steese  was  in  no  mood  for  philosophy, 
the  moralities  least  of  all. 

"What're  you  going  to  do  ?"  she  asked. 

"I?  ...  I'm  going  to  bed,"  was  Sally's  reply. 
Nor  could  Mrs.  Steese  alter  the  decision.  She  went 
into  her  room  and  closed  the  door.  Getting  out  of 
bed,  Mrs.  Steese  tracked  after  her.  It  was  to  no 
avail,  though.  Sally  had  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

However,  that  she  had  formed  some  plan  was  evi- 
dent. 

The  morning  dawned  fair  and  balmy.  It  was  not 
exactly  the  day  for  motoring — the  roads  with  the 
frost  working  out  from  under  were  wet  and  muddy ; 
but  once  he  had  planned  a  thing,  Lester  was  not  the 
sort  to  change  the  plans.  It  seemed,  too,  that  Hast- 

163 


The  Trap 

ings  must  be  like  him.  As  half -past  eight  struck,  his 
car  was  at  the  door  also. 

Lester  came  down  early.  He  was  wont  to  break- 
fast every  day  at  eight;  and  this  morning  was  no 
exception.  The  night's  rest,  however,  seemed  not 
to  have  refreshed  him.  He  was  restless,  and  evi- 
dently fretful.  "Hurry  up,  there,  Butes!"  he 
growled  to  the  butler — "I  can't  be  doddering  here  all 
day!"  Butes  was  startled.  His  master  was  never 
rough  with  the  servants.  A  few  minutes  later, 
though,  as  if  conscious  of  his  brusqueness  to  the  old 
man,  Lester  contrived  to  alleviate  it.  "You  shouldn't 
serve  breakfast,  Butes;  you'll  wear  yourself  out." 
Butes'  face  lit  eagerly.  "It  don't  'arm  me,  Master 
'Arry;  it's  a  pleasure  while  you're  'ere."  An  unin- 
telligible murmur  was  Lester's  only  reply. 

Hastings  had  not  appeared.  Neither  had  Mrs. 
Dewitt  or  Mrs.  Steese.  The  luxury  of  breakfasting 
in  bed  was  one  that  Mrs.  Steese  delighted  in ;  as  for 
Mrs.  Dewitt,  the  advantage  of  a  breakfast  tete-a- 
tete  with  any  man  did  not  balance  with  the  fact  thai 
most  men  preferred  solitude  with  the  morning  egg. 
Not  all  women  are  as  astute  as  Mrs.  Dewitt,  though. 
Nor  was  Sally  Raeburn,  it  appeared. 

Butes  had  just  handed  his  master  the  fruit  when 
164 


The  Trap 

the  tall  French  window  opening  on  the  porch  was 
opened,  and  Sally  entered.  ''Hello,"  Lester  ex- 
claimed, his  surprise  evident,  "where  are  you  from?" 

"The  garden,"  smiled  Sally. 

She  was  without  a  hat.  Her  dress  was  a  simple, 
dainty  country-frock  that  showed  her  off  to  perfec- 
tion; and  over  the  waist  she  had  slipped  a  rose-pink, 
knitted  silk  jacket.  Its  color  harmonized  charm- 
ingly with  the  cluster  of  long-stemmed  roses  she  was 
carrying.  The  roses  were  still  wet  with  dew. 

"You  seem  to  have  been  at  it  early,"  remarked 
Lester. 

"The  flowers,  you  mean?  .  .  .  I've  been  up  for 
an  hour,"  she  announced.  For  an  instant  she  buried 
her  face  in  the  cool,  moist  fragrance  of  the  buds 
and  blossoms.  "Aren't  they  gorgeous!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Had  your  breakfast?"  asked  Lester. 

For  some  reason  he  seemed  disconcerted.  At 
Sally's  entrance  he  had  lurched  to  his  feet,  and  now, 
napkin  in  hand  and  clinging  to  the  back  of  his 
chair,  he  was  more  than  usually  heavy  and  unre- 
sponsive. 

Sally  shook  her  head.  She  hadn't  breakfasted, 
165 


The  Trap 

but  she  was  in  no  hurry.     He  hadn't  finished  his 
morning  paper. 

"Oh,  sit  down,"  Lester  grumbled  crossly. 

He  pulled  out  a  chair  for  her,  and  when  Sally 
had  seated  herself,  he  trudged  back  to  his  place. 
The  newspaper  he  already  had  propped  up  in  front 
of  him;  but  snatching  it  up,  he  tossed  it  on  a  chair 
nearby. 

"Can't  I  pour  the  coffee?"  asked  Sally. 

"You  can  if  you  like,"  mumbled  Lester. 

Sally  paid  no  heed  to  his  crossness.  Butes  was 
still  in  the  room,  and  bustling  about  now,  the  butler 
moved  the  tray  with  its  silver  urn  to  a  place  beside 
her.  Sally  busied  herself  with  the  coffee:  "No 
cream,  just  sugar,  nothing  else,"  directed  Lester 
sulkily.  Sally  handed  the  cup  of  clear,  black  coffee 
to  Butes  who  placed  it  beside  Lester.  "Your  nerves 
must  be  bomb-proof,"  she  remarked  admiringly. 

Another  growl  from  him.  "Bring  in  the  eggs, 
Butes,"  ordered  Lester. 

He  was  as  sulky  as  a  boy.  His  eyes  in  his  cup, 
he  sipped  the  black,  potent  brew.  As  Sally  filled 
her  own  cup,  adding  hot  milk,  then  cream,  she 
smiled  whimsically. 

"It  was  lovely  out  in  the  garden,"  she  remarked. 
166 


The  Trap 

A  mumble.    "Was  it?" 

"Yes,  too  lovely  for  words.  .  .  .  Are  you  cross 
at  me?"  she  asked. 

Lester  set  down  his  cup  and  gazed  at  her.  He 
looked  astonished. 

"What?" 

"You  seem  so,"  said  Sally ;  "you  make  me  think 
I've  done  something." 

Done  something?  A  queer  look  for  an  instant 
came  into  Lester's  eyes. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

Sally  smiled  over  the  coffee  things  at  him. 

"I  feel  just  as  if  I'd  offended  you.    Have  I  ?" 

It  seemed  that  moment  as  if  Lester  meant  to  say 
something — something  vital.  He  wet  his  lips,  still 
staring  at  her;  and  Sally,  still  smiling,  looked  back 
at  him.  The  smile  was  wistful,  though.  "If  I've 
offended  you,"  she  began,  but  she  did  not  finish. 
Lester,  picking  up  his  cup  again,  dropped  his  eyes 
away  from  her. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  growled,  "if  you  offend  me 
you'll  know  it !" 

"There  you  go  again,"  said  Sally,  "you're  just  as 
cross  as  a  bear !  .  .  .  Have  some  toast  ?" 

Lester  looked  as  if  he  meant  to  explode.  But  still 
167 


The  Trap 

smiling,    she    offered   him   the   platter.     Again   he 
growled,  "I  don't  want  any  toast." 

Sally  helped  herself  to  a  slice,  and  set  down  the 
plate.  Then  she  sipped  her  coffee,  her  head  bent. 

"I  wish  you  weren't  going  to  town  to-day,"  she 
said  reflectively;  "I'd  hoped  you  would  stay  here, 
and  that  once  more  we'd  be — friends." 

A  pause  followed.  She  went  on  sipping  her 
coffee,  not  looking  at  him.  Her  face  was  expres- 
sionless. She  set  down  the  cup  then,  and  picking 
up  the  plate  of  toast  he'd  ignored,  she  lifted  the 
napkin  with  a  rosy  thumb  and  forefinger.  But  it 
seemed  that  her  momentary  want  was  not  toast. 
She  set  it  down,  smiled  aimlessly,  and  again  picked 
up  her  cup.  In  this  she  once  more  buried  her  eyes. 

Lester  was  staring  at  her  fixedly.  What  he  was 
thinking  one  may  only  guess ;  but  as  he  looked  at  her 
the  momentary  rigor  of  his  face  changed,  soft- 
ened. She  was  a  pleasing,  fragrant  thing  to  look 
at,  she  with  her  dainty  attire,  her  little  frock,  her 
rose  pink  jacket — that  and  her  fresh,  youthful  color- 
ing, her  boyish  face  and  the  mass  of  spun  silk  hair 
laid  flatly  on  her  slender  head.  Perhaps  Lester 
thought  so,  too,  for  the  longer  he  looked  the  less 
sulky  were  his  eyes. 

1 68 


The  Trap 

But  the  man  apparently  had  steeled  himself.  The 
plea  that  they  might  be  "friends"  he  ignored.  Very 
sorry,  but  he  must  go  to  town. 

Her  slender  nostrils  quivered  momentarily.  It 
looked,  too,  as  if  her  lip  trembled  a  little. 

"You  won't  stay?  You  couldn't  go  up  after 
luncheon  ?" 

"Can't  be  done,"  said  Lester. 

Sally  said  no  more. 

His  breakfast  he  had  finished  now.  She,  too, 
seemed  to  have  done  with  hers,  and  Lester  rose. 
"Anything  I  can  get  you  in  town?"  he  asked.  She 
shook  her  head,  nothing.  Lester  seemed  a  bit 
troubled  as  he  looked  at  her.  "What  are  you  doing 
this  morning?"  he  inquired,  his  voice  less  cold. 

She  was  gathering  up  the  roses  she  had  put  on 
the  table  beside  her  place.  Absently  she  answered, 
"I'll  motor  maybe;  Mr.  Hastings  asked  me." 

"Hastings  ?"  He  looked  at  her  quickly.  She  had 
her  face  in  the  roses  and  did  not  see  the  look. 
"Who's  doing  the  driving?"  demanded  Lester. 

Sally  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Mr.  Hastings,  I  suppose.    Why?" 

Whatever  his  concern  might  be,  the  reply  did  not 
169 


The  Trap 

seem  to  relieve  it.     "Let's  have  a  look  at  that  car," 
Lester  said  abruptly. 

She  went  with  him  to  the  door,  her  air  again 
absent.  Outside,  the  mustached,  swart-faced 
mecaniden  was  as  usual  probing  among  the  en- 
gine's vitals;  and  as  Lester  came  forth,  he  saluted. 
"That's  a  powerful  big  brute  you  have  there," 
remarked  Lester,  then  he  added  something  else.  It 
was  in  Italian,  this  time;  and  Sally  had  no  Italian. 
The  man  replied  in  kind,  and  Lester  frowned. 

He  turned  to  Sally.  "Get  in,"  he  directed  abruptly. 
Though  a  little  wondering,  she  complied. 

Hatless,  his  eyes  scowling  as  if  from  the  glare, 
Lester  set  the  engine  going,  then  threw  out  the 
clutch.  "Hold  fast,"  he  ordered.  As  he  set  the 
gears,  then  dropped  back  the  clutch,  the  car  leaped 
forward  like  a  missile. 

It  took  the  hill  with  a  roar.  Inside  the  grounds 
the  going  was  smooth  enough;  but  as  they  shot 
through  the  upper  gate  out  upon  the  rutted  road 
that  led  away  toward  the  hills,  the  machine  rocked 
and  bounded  like  a  wherry  in  a  tideway.  Lester 
held  it  skillfully  to  the  road,  but  only  a  seasoned 
driver  could  have  driven  as  he  did.  The  car,  as  he'd 
said,  was  a  powerful  brute. 

170 


The  Trap 

He  did  not  go  far.  In  a  brief  five  minutes  he  had 
the  car  back  at  the  house  again,  where  he  handed  it 
over  to  the  mecamcien.  "Butes !"  he  called.  Butes 
came  hurrying.  "See  if  Mr.  Hastings  is  dressed," 
directed  Lester. 

Sally  had  alighted  from  the  car.  Inside,  in  the 
hall,  a  maid  had  appeared  carrying  over  her  arm  a 
rug  and  a  woman's  wraps.  Whose  wraps  they  were 
Sally  guessed.  "I  suppose  then  I  won't  see  you  till 
evening?"  she  questioned. 

Lester  didn't  reply  to  it.  Again  he  addressed  a 
few  words  to  the  chauffeur;  the  man  replied;  and 
Lester,  after  another  frown,  turned  to  Sally.  He 
was  still  frowning.  "I'd  rather  you  didn't  go  in 
that  car,"  he  said  quietly. 

Sally  looked  at  him  calmly. 

"Why  not?" 

"I'd  rather  you  didn't,"  was  his  reply.  Sally 
smiled  as  if  to  herself,  and  the  look  of  worry  in 
Lester's  eyes  deepened.  "Why  don't  you  use  the 
launch?  You  could  take  a  run  up  the  river,"  he 
suggested;  and  Sally  looked  up  at  him  smilingly. 
"Why  don't  you  stay  and  go  with  me?"  she  re- 
turned. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  for  a  moment  he  wavered. 
171 


The  Trap 

His  eyes  fell  as  she  stood  there  smiling  at  him ;  and 
as  he  moved,  shifting  restlessly,  his  air  of  indecision 
grew.  But  just  then,  as  she  was  about  to  speak,  her 
feeling  impulsive,  a  voice  spoke  suddenly  in  the  hall. 
Lester,  as  he  heard  it,  stirred.  Mrs.  Dewitt  had 
appeared. 

Sally  had  lost.  She  knew,  too,  that  she  had  lost. 
Lester  was  saying,  "I  can't  stay;  don't  go  in  that 
motor,  though,"  but  Sally  didn't  listen.  She  hur- 
ried indoors,  uttering  only  a  brief  "Good  morning" 
to  Mrs.  Dewitt;  and  hastened  up  the  stairs.  Once 
she  was  in  her  room,  she  closed  and  locked  her  door. 
She  was  still  standing  there,  her  figure  rigid,  when 
she  heard  Lester's  motor  roar  off  down  the  drive- 
way. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SHE  had  guessed  now  what  had  happened. 
The  fact  that  Lester  was  deliberately  avoid- 
ing her  had  at  last  forced  itself  upon  her. 
The  old  belief  that  the  drowning,  as  they  sink, 
see  all  the  past  happenings  of  their  lives,  seemed  to 
be  so,  too,  with  Sally  as  she  sat  there  in  that  chintz- 
hued  bedroom  at  Lester's.  Monterey  she  remem- 
bered. What  had  taken  place  there  she  recalled  as 
she  recalled,  too,  everything  at  Santa  Barbara, 
Riverside,  Coronado,  all  those  places  where  she  and 
Mrs.  Steese  had  carried  on  their  impetuous  cam- 
paign. Each  time  she  had  failed.  Curiously,  how- 
ever, none  of  these  other  failures  had  left  her  like 
this — numb,  callous,  depressed.  Why  it  did  she 
didn't  know.  Lester,  she  had  lost.  That  was 
enough,  wasn't  it? 

She  tried  to  guess  what  had  done  it.  Was  it  that 
Lester  had  learned  something?  How  near  she  was 
to  the  truth  she  didn't  dream;  but  what  difference 
was  it  if  he  had  learned?  She'd  failed,  hadn't  she? 

173 


The  Trap 

What  a  fool  she'd  been,  too!  Only  the  day  before 
she'd  told  herself  he  was  head  over  heels  in  love — 
mad  enough  to  ask  her  to  marry  him.  And  now! 
.  .  .  Marry  her?  .  .  .  He  had  only  been  playing 
with  her! 

A  hand  rattled  the  door  knob  of  the  room  adjoin- 
ing. It  was  Mrs.  Steese.  Night  brings  counsel,  the 
copybooks  tell  us,  but  to  Mrs.  Steese  it  had  brought 
only  disquiet.  On  her,  too,  Lester's  absences  from 
Ferncliffe  had  begun  to  weigh.  She  was  uneasy, 
too,  over  the  progress  with  him  Mrs.  Dewitt  was 
evidently  making.  "Open  the  door !"  she  exhorted. 

Again  she  rattled  the  knob ;  and  Sally  went  to  the 
door.  But  the  key  she  didn't  turn.  "What  do  you 
wish?"  she  asked.  Mrs.  Steese,  it  appeared,  wished 
to  talk  to  her.  "Well,  you  can't,"  retorted  Sally. 

She  knew  clearly  the  effect  the  answer  would  have 
on  the  exclamative  Mrs.  Steese,  yet  that  didn't  dis- 
turb Sally.  Once  more  the  knob  was  rattled — this 
time  violently;  but  ignoring  it,  Sally  turned  away. 
Her  face  was  quiet,  a  bit  hardened,  too,  one  had 
thought ;  and  over  her  shoulder  as  she  glanced  back 
at  the  door  she  smiled  derisively.  Mrs.  Steese  was 
now  shrieking  through  the  keyhole.  But  this  ceased 
presently.  She  could  be  heard  hurriedly  dressing. 

174 


The  Trap 

Sally's  reflections  grew  acute.  She  had  failed 
with  Lester  just  as  she  had  failed  elsewhere.  And 
why  and  how  she'd  failed  she  saw  now.  She  had 
been  too  limp ;  too  undetermined.  It  was  just  what 
any  romantic  fool  of  a  girl  might  do.  Girls  like  that 
didn't  marry  men  with  money.  The  girls  that  did 
had  no  delusions  about  what  they  were  doing.  They 
made  a  business  of  it  or  they  didn't  get  the  man. 
Love  was  an  obstacle.  If  you  loved  a  man  it  inter- 
fered with  your  strategy.  If  a  girl  wished  to  get  a 
man,  the  way  to  get  him  was  not  to  throw  herself  at 
his  head.  One  must  be  cautious,  deliberate,  cunning. 
He  must  be  led  on,  not  dragged  on. 

She  was  convinced  now  how  and  why  she'd  failed. 
Well,  there'd  be  no  failure  next  time ! 

"D'you  hear  me,  let  me  in!"  called  Mrs.  Steese. 

Sally  didn't  reply. 

She  went  to  the  closet  and  took  down  a  hat,  a  cap. 
The  cap  was  a  velvet  be  ret.  The  effect  it  gave  her 
was  charming,  jaunty;  and  after  she  had  adjusted  it 
to  her  satisfaction  on  her  erect,  slender  head,  she 
returned  to  the  closet  and  took  down  a  heavy  fur- 
lined  coat.  Afterward,  she  stuffed  a  veil  and  a  pair 
of  gloves  into  her  pocket,  then  slipping  to  the  door 
that  led  into  the  hall  she  noiselessly  turned  the  key. 

175 


The  Trap 

Mrs.  Steese  was  still  rattling  the  knob.  It  made 
Sally  smile  to  hear  her.  Evidently  she  had  no  inten- 
tion of  wasting  either  time  or  breath  on  Mrs.  Steese. 
While  the  lady  was  still  frantically  rattling  the  knob 
Sally  was  well  on  her  way  downstairs. 

She  meant  now  to  go  her  own  way  unguided. 
Once  she  left  Ferncliffe  she  and  Mrs.  Steese  would 
part. 

That  would  be  in  the  future,  though.  Ferncliffe 
she  had  no  intention  of  quitting  yet.  She  had  some- 
thing else  in  mind  now. 

What  she  had  in  mind  one  may  readily  conjecture. 
About  it,  however,  was  something  she  hadn't  counted 
on.  It  was  why  she'd  been  brought  to  Ferncliffe. 
It  was  also  why  Hastings  was  there. 

The  road  from  Ferncliffe  to  the  city  leads  by  the 
river  highway;  and  in  fine  weather  when  the  going 
is  good,  the  run  is  an  easy,  pleasant  jaunt,  a  little 
more  than  an  hour  in  duration.  Settled  back  among 
the  cushions  of  the  car,  Mrs.  Dewitt  prepared  her- 
self to  make  good  use  of  the  time. 

By  her  side  sat  Lester. 

If,  as  it  had  seemed  evident,  Lester  was  done  with 
Sally  Raeburn,  done  with  any  thought  of  asking  her 

176 


The  Trap 

to  marry  him,  the  one  most  likely  to  profit  by  the 
event  was  this  quondam  sweetheart  of  his,  the  love 
of  his  boyhood  days.  Mrs.  Dewitt  knew  it,  too.  In 
spite  of  the  rebuff  she'd  had  from  him  she  was  still 
not  discouraged ;  and  the  night  before,  when  Lester, 
avoiding  Sally,  had  devoted  himself  to  her,  Mrs. 
Dewitt  had  grasped  the  situation  swiftly.  Lester 
was  manifestly  tiring  of  the  new  attraction;  and 
though  at  first  she  could  hardly  believe  it,  the  truth 
of  this  good  fortune  at  length  forced  itself  upon  her. 
She  knew  Lester.  She  herself  had  learned  painfully 
his  distrust  of  women.  She  saw  at  a  glance  that 
Sally  Raeburn  had  done  something  to  ruin  every 
chance  of  getting  him.  What  it  was  she  didn't 
know.  Rather  shrewdly,  though,  she  suspected  the 
truth.  If,  as  she  suspected,  Lester  had  seen  the  girl 
wished  to  marry  him  for  his  money,  that  would 
settle  it.  Sally  Raeburn  hadn't  a  chance. 

One  might  ask  here  why  Mrs.  Dewitt  herself 
wished  to  marry  Lester.  The  answer  is,  she  was 
madly  in  love  with  him.  She  had  been  in  love  with 
Lester  even  when  she  jilted  him.  And  that,  too, 
was  as  queer  as  it  sounds.  The  world — New  York, 
especially — is  full  of  Fanny  Dewitts.  She  had  been 
raised  by  her  parents  to  achieve  one  single  pur- 

177 


The  Trap 

pose.  From  her  cradle  to  the  time  she'd  come  out,  a 
debutante,  that  purpose  had  been  sledge-hammered 
into  her  head.  It  was  to  marry  money — marry  the 
most  money  she  could.  That  was  why  she'd  dropped 
Lester  to  marry  Dewitt;  she  thought  Dewitt  had 
more  than  Lester.  Dewitt  hadn't;  though  never 
mind! — Fanny's  idea  was  identical  with  Sally's — 
Mrs.  Steese's  rather.  The  only  difference  was  that 
Fanny's  purpose  was  "respectable." 

Fanny  was  maneuvered  by  her  parents,  who  had 
a  "name,"  whereas  Sally  lacked  parents,  and  was 
directed  only  by  a  fictitious  aunt.  Fanny's  base  of 
activities,  too,  was  her  parents'  house,  her  home; 
Sally's  was  only  public  hotels.  That  was  it,  you 
know.  If  Fanny,  backed  by  her  family,  married  a 
man  for  money  only,  it  would  still  all  be  regular 
and  reputable.  If  Sally  did  the  same  thing,  though, 
it  would  be  a  game.  Curious,  isn't  it?  But  then, 
it  all  depends  how  one  goes  at  a  thing.  A  girl  may 
not  care  a  shoe-button  for  the  man  she  marries,  she 
may  even  despise  him ;  but  so  long  as  she  is  backed 
properly,  the  sale  of  herself  is  proper,  too.  How- 
ever, having  married  for  what  she  wanted,  Fanny 
had  repented  the  bargain.  What  she  wanted  now 
was  love,  was  Lester. 

178 


The  Trap 

That  she  might  have  him,  thrilled  her  feverishly. 

Lester  was  driving.  As  the  car  racing  swiftly 
banked  upon  a  curve,  the  sweep  of  it  edged  Mrs. 
Dewitt  against  his  arm.  She  did  not  move,  how- 
ever. The  soft  firmness  of  her  shoulder  was  pressed 
against  his;  and  her  lips  parted.  She  sat  there 
softly  smiling,  the  bright  sunlight,  the  car's  head- 
long speed,  the  closeness  of  the  man  she  loved  all 
exhilarating  her. 

"See!"  she  cried,  as  the  motor  swept  out  into  the 
open  highway,  "see  the  river,  Harry !" 

A  mutter  from  him. 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

Her  smile  remained  as  radiant. 

"How  the  light  strikes  on  it!    Isn't  it  beautiful!" 

Another  mutter.  Unintelligible,  too.  Mrs.  Dewitt 
glanced  up  at  him  wistfully. 

"Not  cross  with  me,  are  you,  Harry  ?" 

It  was  the  second  time  that  morning  that  he  had 
been  asked  if  he  were  cross;  and  somehow  the  fact 
seemed  irritating.  "Don't  be  a  fool,  Fanny!"  he 
directed  rudely.  With  a  scowl,  he  jabbed  his  foot 
on  the  gas ;  and  the  car,  its  powerful  engines  drum- 
ming like  a  power-plant,  leaped  along  the  roadway, 
the  needle  of  the  speedometer  climbing  like  a  steam 

179 


The  Trap 

gauge.  In  Mrs.  Dewitt's  eyes  was  a  look  of  hurt 
which  she  made  no  pretense  of  hiding.  She  still 
leaned  softly  against  him,  though. 

The  car  went  on  gathering  speed.  "I  wish  you 
wouldn't  drive  so  fast,  Harry,"  begged  Mrs.  Dewitt, 
but  Lester  kept  his  foot  on  the  pedal.  "I'm  in  a 
hurry  to  get  to  town,"  he  answered. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  gave  him  another  wistful  look. 

"I  hope  you're  not  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me, 
are  you  ?"  she  asked. 

Lester  did  not  reply.  There  was  a  hill  ahead,  a 
stiff  slope;  and  he  put  the  car  at  it  with  a  rush.  At 
the  top,  however,  he  slacked  down  a  bit ;  and  cling- 
ing to  her  hat,  her  veil  and  the  edge  of  the  tonneau 
to  hold  herself  in,  Mrs.  Dewitt  made  another  effort 
to  beguile  him  into  the  mood  that  had  charmed  her 
so  the  night  before. 

"Isn't  the  spring  lovely  along  the  river,  Harry! 
Do  you  remember  the  spring  day,  years  ago,  you 
and  I  went  fishing  in  the  brook  back  of  Ferncliffe? 
I  was  just  fifteen!" 

Silence.  His  face  was  still  grim,  his  jaw  set 
stiffly.  As  he  thrust  the  car  along,  though,  the 
corner  of  his  mouth  raised — a  lurking  grin. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  didn't  see  it. 
1 80 


The  Trap 

"I  fell  in,  don't  you  remember?  I  slipped  off  the 
rock,  and  you  fished  me  out.  Then  all  my  hair 
came  down,  and  I  can  see  you  yet.  How  shocked 
you  were!  You  blushed  crimson.  Remember?" 

If  he  did  he  didn't  say  so.  His  eyes  had  narrowed 
now,  and  the  grin  still  lurked  on  his  jaw.  Mrs. 
Dewitt  was  smiling  as  if  at  the  memory. 

"Then  that  other  time,  Harry — the  day  we  crossed 
the  river  and  picnicked  in  the  hills.  That  was  later, 
though,  years!  I  was  eighteen — nearly  nineteen 
then.  Remember  it? — the  fire  you  built?  the  tea 
we  had  at  dusk  beside  that  stream  ?" 

If  again  he  remembered,  he  again  did  not  admit 
it.  In  his  silence  he  seemed  if  anything  more  grim. 
And  yet  the  day,  that  outing  among  the  river  hills, 
was  one  Lester  had  reason  not  to  forget.  The  repast 
he  had  cooked  beside  the  stream,  he  and  she  had 
eaten;  dusk  fell,  and  the  tea  things  repacked  in  his 
haversack,  he  had  set  out  with  her  back  to  the  boat 
they  had  left  along  the  river.  Something  stilled 
them.  They  went  silently,  and  in  the  dusk,  as  they 
trudged  down  the  winding  country  road,  his  hand 
had  found  hers,  taken  it  in  his,  their  fingers  twined 
together.  Then,  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  Lester  had 
gathered  her  in  his  arms.  Instinctively,  her  figure 

181 


The  Trap 

unresisting,  she  had  raised  her  face  to  his.     Their 
lips  had  met  then. 

It  was  the  one  time  Lester  had  kissed  Fanny  De- 
witt.  Perhaps  she  wished  him  to  remember  it. 

That  night,  years  ago,  Lester  had  sung,  his  heart 
light,  as  he  rowed  her  home  across  the  river.  But 
since  then,  since  those  days  of  that  boyhood  love  of 
his,  Lester's  singing  seemed  to  have  cut  itself  short. 
He  did  not  look  now,  either,  as  if  he  meant  to  sing. 
His  mouth  was  rigid.  Even  the  lurking  grin  had 
left  it  now. 

"Remember  the  stars  that  night  on  the  river, 
Harry?  Remember  how  you  stopped  halfway 
across,  and  began  telling  me  what  they  were?  That 
was  a  wonderful  night — I  can  see  it  yet!  Stars,  a 
new  moon,  the  river,  the  black  shadow  of  the  hills 
behind  it;  and  you  sitting  there,  pointing  out  the 
planets  and  the  constellations.  What  a  big,  impul- 
sive boy  you  were !" 

Lester  spoke  then. 

The  speech  came  from  him  slowly,  deliberately, 
unfaltering  in  spite  of  the  speed  at  which  the  car 
was  traveling  now.  "I  was  a  blind,  damned  young 
fool !"  he  said. 

"Harry!"  cried  Mrs.  Dewitt. 
182 


The  Trap 

Lester  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  her. 

"If  you're  keen  on  raking  up  the  past,  Fanny," 
he  said  with  the  same  even  deliberation,  "why  pick 
and  choose?  Have  you  forgotten  the  night  you 
chucked  me  over?" 

Mrs.  Dewitt  gave  a  gasp.  She  moved  suddenly, 
her  shoulder  withdrawn  from  its  soft  contact  with 
his.  "You're  cruel — cruel !"  she  murmured. 

"Well,  if  I  am,"  retorted  Lester,  "you  know  what 
made  me." 

She  did  not  speak  for  a  long  while  after  that. 
Neither  did  Lester.  Grim  again,  peering  at  the  road 
ahead  as  it  flowed  like  a  river  toward  the  rushing 
car,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  distance.  The  city 
was  drawing  near  now;  the  settlements  they  passed 
grew  more  numerous  and  larger;  yet  Lester  still 
pushed  along  at  a  pace  as  swift  as  if  he  had  some 
vital  engagement  to  keep. 

"What  time  are  we  returning,  Harry?"  asked 
Mrs.  Dewitt. 

Lester  shook  his  head.  "Don't  know  yet,"  he 
mumbled. 

She  made  another  effort  to  rouse  him. 

"Where  would  you  like  to  lunch  ?"  she  asked. 
183 


The  Trap 

The  attempt  was  as  fruitless  as  the  other.  "Suit 
yourself,"  was  his  reply. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  shot  a  glance  at  him.  His  irritation 
was  encompassed  now  in  a  scowl.  Nor  was  he  only 
irritated.  The  glance  she  gave  him  showed  her 
that  what  fretted  him  was  not  just  the  recollections 
she  had  tried  to  beguile  him  with.  He  seemed  un- 
easy, restless,  worried. 

The  thought  made  her  wonder.  Had  she  been 
mistaken,  misled  by  her  hopes?  Was  it  certain  he 
had  finished  with  that  girl?  The  one  thought  made 
her  think  of  another. 

"Harry,"  murmured  Mrs.  Dewitt,  her  air  as  if 
idle,  "who  is  Mr.  Hastings?  He  seems  a  charming 
young  man." 

She  no  sooner  had  asked  the  question  than  she 
wished  she  hadn't.  In  fact,  she  wished  she  hadn't 
spoken  at  all.  Lester  gruffly  bade  her  stop  talking. 
He  could  not  run  a  car  if  she  kept  jabbering  away 
at  him.  What  difference  did  it  make  to  her  who 
Hastings  was?  She  wasn't  interested  in  him,  was 
she?  If  she  was,  why  didn't  she  ask  Hastings? 

Hurt,  offended,  angry,  Mrs.  Dewitt  said  no  more. 

She  was  still  angry  when  Lester  dropped  her  at 
the  shop  where  she  meant  to  make  her  morning's 

184 


The  Trap 

purchases.  Curtly  she  told  him  where  she  meant  to 
lunch.  As  curtly  she  bade  him  adieu,  and  hurried 
into  the  shop.  But  Lester  seemed  too  absorbed  to 
heed  her.  "Take  the  wheel,"  he  ordered  the  chauf- 
feur, who  until  now  had  been  sitting  after  in  the 
tonneau.  The  man  did  as  directed. 

"Where  to,  sir?"  asked  the  man. 

Lester,  his  eyes  restless,  waved  him  up  the  ave- 
nue. 

Halfway  along  the  block  he  reached  forward,  and 
tapped  the  man  on  the  shoulder.  "At  half -past  one, 
Lunt,  meet  Mrs.  Dewitt  at  the  Ritz.  She  will  be 
lunching  there.  You  tell  her  I  can't  join  her;  and 
when  she's  ready,  you  drive  her  home." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  the  man. 

"Now  take  me  to  Grand  Central,"  ordered  Lester, 
"I  want  to  catch  the  1 1 130  back  to  Ferncliffe." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MEANWHILE,  having  breakfasted  in  his 
room  this  morning,  Hastings,  with  the 
aid  of  his  valet,  had  proceeded  leisurely 
to  dress.  Hanging  in  the  closet  were  a  half  dozen 
suits  of  tweeds  and  flannels,  all  suitable  for  country 
wear;  but  the  question  of  what  to  select  from  these 
seemed  to  cause  their  owner  concern.  The  valet  ob- 
serving his  master's  indecision  suggested  flannels — 
"Very  tasty,  the  gray  lounge  suit,  sir,"  but  Hastings 
shook  his  head.  He  was  motoring  that  morning,  and 
he  wished  something  more  suitable  than  flannels. 
"Begging  pardon,  sir,  but  wouldn't  the  tweed  bags 
suit  ?"  the  valet  inquired. 

"The  very  thing."  With  heather-wool  stockings, 
low  shoes  and  a  soft  hat — a  billycock — they  were 
quite  the  mode.  "I'll  have  a  silk  shirt  and  one  of 
those  banded  neckties  with  it,"  directed  Hastings. 

He  had  just  finished  knotting  the  tie  when  Butes 
knocked. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  the  master  'e'll  wish  to  speak 
with  you,  sir." 

1 86 


The  Trap 

"In  just  a  moment,  Butes,"  was  the  reply. 

He  did  not  hurry.  Still  leisurely  he  completed  his 
dressing,  helped  himself  to  gloves  and  handkerchief, 
then  having  given  himself  a  last  casual  glance  in  the 
glass,  he  sauntered  down  to  the  library. 

"Morning,  old  man,"  he  greeted  pleasantly — 
"what's  the  good  word  ?" 

If  there  was  any,  Lester  didn't  mention  it. 

"Don't  take  out  that  motor  to-day,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

Hastings,  in  well-bred  surprise,  had  raised  his 
brows. 

"Why,  why  not?" 

"Because  I  say  so,"  was  the  blunt  response. 
Somehow  Hastings'  easy,  pleasant  air  with  him 
seemed  always  to  annoy  Lester.  Hastings,  how- 
ever, affected  apparently  to  ignore  his  host's  blunt- 
ness.  "You've  forgotten,  haven't  you,"  he  returned 
pleasantly,  "that  I've  promised  to  take  Miss  Rae- 
burn." 

"Well,  you  won't,"  retorted  Lester.  "If  she  asks 
to  go  out,  take  her  on  the  launch ;  take  her  aunt,  too, 
do  you  hear !" 

A  faint  pink  had  crept  in  Hastings'  face.  A  new 
light,  too,  had  come  into  his  eyes.  His  air  was  not 

187 


The  Trap 

so  pleasantly  suave  and  soft  as  was  its  wont.  Or- 
dinarily, Lester's  blunt,  brusque  manner  with  him 
seemed  to  silence  Hastings;  but  now  it  looked  as 
anger  fortified  him. 

"Do  you  mean  you  don't  want  me  to  take  out  the 
car,  or  don't  you  want  me  to  take  out  Miss  Rae- 
burn?"  he  inquired. 

The  question  Lester  didn't  answer.  His  brows 
twitched,  his  jaw  set  itself  a  little  more  rigidly;  but 
with  an  effort  he  mastered  the  wrath  the  inquiry 
seemed  to  have  caused  him. 

"You  heard  what  I  said,"  he  returned — "you  leave 
that  car  in  the  stables !" 

That  was  all.  That  ended  it;  and  abruptly  turn- 
ing on  his  heel,  Lester  stalked  from  the  room,  his 
heavy  tread  thudding  along  the  passage  as  he  made 
his  way  toward  the  door  in  front. 

Hastings'  air  was  curious.  As  Lester  shot  from 
the  room,  Hastings'  eyes  followed  him  along  the 
hall.  The  look  in  them  was  mocking.  It  was  as  if 
at  some  momentary  thought,  some  discovery,  he  was 
smiling,  amused.  For  one  so  pleasant  as  he,  though, 
the  smile  was  contemptuous,  disagreeable. 

It  was  perhaps  ten  minutes  after  this  when  Sally 
came  tripping  down  the  stairs.  Hastings,  now  him- 

188 


The  Trap 

self  again,  went  cordially  to  meet  her.  She,  too, 
seemed  quite  at  her  ease. 

"I'm  ready,"  she  announced;  "your  car's  in 
front,  isn't  it?" 

The  car  was  not  in  front.  The  last  thing  Lester 
had  done,  was  to  order  it  back  to  the  stables.  How- 
ever, if  Hastings  felt  any  annoyance  he  didn't  show 
it  now.  "What  do  you  say  to  taking  the  launch 
instead  of  the  motor,"  he  suggested.  "Wouldn't 
that  be  better?" 

Sally  was  busily  putting  on  her  gloves. 

"Why  so?"  she  inquired. 

Hastings  explained.  The  river  was  beautiful  this 
morning;  the  roads,  however,  his  man  had  told  him 
were  quite  muddy.  "I  don't  mind  a  little  mud," 
Sally  promptly  said. 

Hastings  tried  again.  If  they  had  the  launch 
they  could  lunch  aboard;  they  could  also  take  Mrs. 
Steese.  But  to  take  Mrs.  Steese  was  the  last  thing 
Sally  wished.  She  was,  in  fact,  hurrying  to  get  off 
before  Mrs.  Steese  could  get  downstairs.  "See 
here,  Mr.  Hastings,"  Sally  said  quietly;  "did  Mr, 
Lester  ask  you  not  to  take  me?" 

"What?"  exclaimed  Hastings,  for  once  inelegant. 
189 


The  Trap 

He  had  reason  to  feel  astonished.  Sally,  however, 
calmly  nodded. 

"If  you'd  like  to  know,"  she  said,  her  tone  still 
as  calm,  "he  told  me  not  to  go  with  you.  I  didn't 
think,  though,  he'd  be  rude  enough  to  say  it  to  you." 

Hastings  had  flushed  to  the  eyes.  It  was  not  all 
embarrassment,  however;  it  was  a  mixture  of  con- 
fusion, anger,  then  alarm. 

"That  you  shouldn't  drive  with  me?"  he  ex- 
claimed. Sally  nodded.  "Just  what  did  he  say?" 
asked  Hastings  slowly. 

Idly  Sally  gave  a  shrug. 

"It's  the  way  you  drive,  I  think.  He  doesn't 
trust  your  skill,  perhaps."  Hastings,  at  this,  seemed 
to  look  relieved;  but  calmly  absorbed  with  gloves, 
Sally  didn't  notice  it.  "I'm  not  worried,"  she  ob- 
served; "if  you  tip  me  into  a  ditch  I  wouldn't  care 
the  least."  Then  she  looked  up  with  a  quick  smile. 
"You  see  how  I  trust  you." 

In  spite  of  this,  Hastings  didn't  seem  reassured. 

"Under  the  circumstances,  the  launch "  he  was 

saying  hesitantly  when  Sally  cut  him  short. 

"Nonsense!  .  .  .  send  for  the  car,"  she  directed. 

Hastings  was  visibly  uneasy.  He  had  his  rea- 
sons for  not  disobeying  Lester;  but  these  reasons 

190 


The  Trap 

Sally  had  no  means  of  knowing.  All  she  saw  was 
that  Hastings  still  hesitated.  Probably  he  didn't 
wish  to  annoy  his  host.  As  for  herself,  she  was 
bent  on  going  anyway. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  take  me,  Mr.  Hastings  ?" 

He  was  still  smiling,  but  the  smile  was  not  a 
happy  one. 

"You  don't  wish  to  anger  him,  do  you?" 

"Ridiculous !"  was  the  reply.  She  was  at  the  hall 
glass  now,  putting  on  her  veil.  "Do  you  think  if 
what  I  did  fussed  Mr.  Lester,  he  would  run  off  to 
the  city  the  way  he  has!" 

Hastings  gazed  at  her  curiously. 

"You  don't  care  what  he  says  then?" 

"Why  should  I?"  asked  Sally.  She  turned  from 
the  glass  to  glance  at  him.  Her  air,  too,  was  as  if 
she  resented  what  to  her  was  an  impertinence.  Care 
for  what  Lester  said?  Hastings,  however,  so  far 
from  feeling  squelched  seemed  the  contrary. 

"You  really  wish  to  go?"  he  said  eagerly. 

"Certainly!"  was  the  reply.  Then,  as  if  to  al- 
leviate the  snub  she'd  just  administered,  she  flashed 
a  smile  at  him. 

"What  do  you  say,"  asked  Sally  delightedly,  "if 
we  drive  over  the  hills,  through  Westchester  to  the 

191 


The  Trap 

Sound.    It  would  take  all  day,  and  you  and  I  could 
have  luncheon  together  somewhere." 

They  already  had  been  gone  an  hour  or  more 
when  a  cab,  a  village  hack  from  the  station,  came 
plodding  up  the  driveway  to  the  door.  In  the  cab 
was  Lester. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

conveyance,  a  rattle-trap,  broken-down 
affair  drawn  by  an  equally  demoralized 
horse,  had  hardly  swayed  to  a  stop  under 
the  porte  cochere  when  Lester  stepped  out  and 
stamped  hurriedly  up  the  steps.  The  second  man, 
hearing  wheels,  had  come  to  open  the  door;  behind 
him  was  Butes.  "Pay  the  cabman,"  Lester  directed. 
Before  Butes  could  step  outside,  Lester  called  him 
back. 

"Where's  Mr.  Hastings,  Butes?" 

"  'E's  away,  sir;  yes,  sir.  Mr.  'Astings  and  Miss 
Raeburn  went  off  in  the  motor  an  'our  or  more." 

"They  went  in  the  motor?"  repeated  Lester. 

"Yes,  sir — in  Mr.  'Astings'  roadster,  Mr.  'Arry." 

"You' re  sure?" 

"Positive,  sir.    I  saw  them  go." 

Lester  did  not  continue  the  topic.  "Send  Mawsby 
to  me,"  he  directed  evenly;  then  he  strode  down 
the  hall  toward  the  library.  Mawsby,  a  moment 
later,  found  his  master  there.  His  hat  still  on,  still 

193 


The  Trap 

wearing  the  ulster  he'd  worn  to  the  city,  Lester 
was  sitting  at  his  desk. 

It  was  manifest  that  only  by  an  effort  was  he  con- 
trolling himself — holding  in  check  his  inner  emo- 
tions whatever  they  may  have  been.  For  a  moment 
his  heavy  eyes  rested  on  the  manservant. 

"Yes,  sir?"  said  Mawsby,  inquiringly. 

"Butes  tells  me,"  said  Lester  quietly,  "that  Mr. 
Hastings  went  away  in  the  car." 

"He  did,  sir,"  replied  Mawsby. 

"Did  you  say  anything  to  him?"  Lester  asked. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  gave  him  to  infer  he  wasn't  to  go. 
I  was  as  plain,  sir,  as  I  could  be,  sir,  with  the  young 
lady  present  at  the  time." 

"But  still  he  went?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Lester  reached  forward  on  the  desk,  and  picked 
up  a  narrow  strip  of  paper.  It  was  still  damp  with 
the  ink  on  it,  and  he  blotted  it  methodically  on  the 
blotter  in  front  of  him.  "Get  this  check  cashed 
for  me  in  the  village,  Mawsby.  Tell  them  to  give 
it  to.  you  in  hundred  dollar  bills.  When  you  return 
I  wish  you  to  have  all  Mr.  Hastings'  belongings 
packed.  Take  what  bags  you  need  from  the  trunk- 
room.  When  Mr.  Hastings'  man  has  finished  help- 

194 


The  Trap 

ing  you,  pay  him  off  and  send  him  back  to  the  city. 
Then,  the  moment  Mr.  Hastings  comes  in  let  him 
know  I  wish  to  see  him." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  Mawsby  returned  imperturb- 
ably. 

"When  Lunt  returns,"  continued  Lester,  "tell  him 
not  to  go  home  for  dinner.  If  there  is  time,  I'll 
need  him  to  take  Mr.  Hastings  to  the  train." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Anything  else,  sir?"  responded 
Mawsby. 

There  was  nothing,  but  Mawsby  still  lingered. 

"Begging  pardon,  sir — Mr.  Ashe  was  here  this 
morning." 

"Mr.  Ashe?     I  thought  he  was  in  town." 

"He  is  at  his  place,  sir.  He  wished  to  see  you 
particularly." 

"Do  you  know  what  he  wished?"  asked  Lester. 

Mawsby  for  a  moment  moved  uneasily.  His  mas- 
ter was  looking  at  him ;  the  look  was  quiet,  but  some- 
how it  seemed  to  disconcert  the  man. 

"Might  I  speak  frank,  sir?  Begging  your  par- 
don, Mr.  Lester,  and  meaning  no  offense,  sir,  I  be- 
lieve Mr.  Ashe  suspects  something." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Lester. 

"I  ask  your  pardon  again,  sir.     I  don't  wish  to 

195 


The  Trap 

presume,  but  it's  as  I  say,  I  think.  He  asked  me 
a  lot  of  questions.  It  was  not  like  Mr.  Ashe  at  all, 
sir.  He  wished  to  know  about  Mr.  Hastings.  He 
also  asked  a  lot  about  Mrs.  Steese.  In  all  my  years, 
sir,  I've  never  known  Mr.  Ashe  to  ask  such  of  a  serv- 
ant, begging  pardon,  sir." 

Lester's  face  was  set. 

"Did  Mr.  Ashe  see  Mrs.  Steese?"  he  asked. 

"He  didn't  wish  to,  sir.  When  I  took  the  liberty 
of  telling  him  Mrs.  Steese  was  upstairs,  he  said 
flatly  he'd  no  wish  to  speak  with  her.  He  did  ask 
for  Miss  Raeburn,  however." 

"Did  he?"  returned  Lester. 

That  was  his  only  comment. 

Mawsby  having  communicated  all  he  had  to  tell 
was  leaving  the  room  when  Lester  halted  him  at  the 
door. 

"Tell  Butes  I'll  lunch  in  here.  And,  Mawsby,  if 
any  one  asks  for  me — Mrs.  Steese  or  Mrs.  Dewitt 
when  she  returns — say  I'm  occupied.  But  don't  for- 
get— let  me  know  the  instant  Mr.  Hastings  comes 
back.  I'll  wait  here  till  he  returns." 

As  the  manservant  closed  the  door  behind  him, 
Lester  rose,  removed  his  hat  and  coat,  and  then 

196 


The  Trap 

flung  them  on  a  chair.     Another  chair  he  drew  up 
before  the  fire  crackling  in  the  grate. 

Three  hours  later  he  was  still  sitting  there.  The 
man  he  was  waiting  for  had  yet  to  return  to  Fern- 
cliffe. 

"See!"  cried  Sally. 

The  roadster  racing  to  the  crest  of  a  hilltop  had 
halted  there;  and,  perched  forward  on  the  seat,  she 
pored  upon  the  view.  Miles  away  was  the  river, 
a  thread  of  silver  glistening  in  the  shadow  under 
the  hill;  but  though  they  were  still  far  from  home 
and  the  evening  was  drawing  on,  she  seemed  con- 
cerned in  neither  the  distance  nor  the  time. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful !"  she  murmured. 

Her  lips  were  parted,  she  was  breathing  lightly, 
her  eyes  fastened  on  the  view.  A  lock  of  her  hair, 
a  tendril  as  soft  and  brilliant  in  the  sunlight  as  a 
strand  of  unspun  silk,  had  escaped  from  under  her 
velvet  beret  playing  to  and  fro  unregarded ;  and,  as 
she  stared  across  the  wide  interval  of  rolling  ground 
and  valley  to  the  river,  she  was  a  picture  of  dreamy 
unconcern — an  alluring  picture,  too. 

Hastings,  at  any  rate,  seemed  to  think  so.  His 
197 


The  Trap 

eyes  on  her,  not  on  the  scenery,  he  looked  as  ab- 
sorbed as  she  was. 

"Wonderful,  yes.  The  whole  day  has  been  won- 
derful, I  think.  It  could  not  have  been  more  per- 
fect." 

Sally  nodded.  She  did  not  speak,  but  sat  silent 
now.  One  test  of  companionship,  however,  is  that 
ability  to  communicate  by  a  nod,  by  a  smile,  by  even 
the  mere  sense  of  presence,  a  full  sympathy  with 
another's  thought  and  feeling.  And  already  she'd 
established  that  with  Hastings.  The  day  had  been 
full,  in  fact. 

All  the  morning  they  had  driven,  rambling  out 
of  one  road  into  another.  Then,  at  one  o'clock 
they  had  lunched  together  at  a  little  inn  far  over 
toward  the  Sound.  Afterward,  they  had  gone  on 
again ;  and  now  by  a  winding,  roundabout  way  they 
had  turned  back  toward  Ferncliffe.  Long  as  the 
day  had  been,  neither  seemed  in  any  haste  to  end  it. 

The  lingering  softness  of  Hastings'  voice  again 
caressed  her  as  he  spoke. 

"After  this  I'll  always  think  of  this  road,  these 
glimpses  from  the  hilltops,  as  ours.  You'll  drive 
out  here  again  with  me,  won't  you?" 

She  nodded  brightly. 

198 


The  Trap 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"To-morrow?"  he  asked  swiftly. 

Sally  gave  a  little  laugh,  a  ripple  of  amusement. 

"But  to-morrow  we're  going  up  the  river,  I 
thought." 

Apparently  he'd  forgotten  it.  Apparently,  too,  he 
preferred  the  motor.  If  they  went  on  the  launch 
they  would  not  be  together.  He  was  bold  enough 
to  say  it,  too.  Mrs.  Steese  would  probably  decide 
she  ought  to  go  with  them. 

"What  if  she  does,"  laughed  Sally.  "She'll  prob- 
ably nap  most  of  the  time."  However,  there  was 
little  chance  that  Mrs.  Steese  would  go.  Sally  would 
see  to  it,  though  she  didn't  say  so,  that  Mrs.  Steese 
would  stay  at  home. 

Hastings  waited  a  moment.  "You  couldn't  slip 
off  without  her — just  you  and  I  together?" 

"What!  run  off  like  that?"  she  exclaimed. 

Hastings'  air  was  eager.  "We'd  have  a  lovely 
time!  Do  it,  won't  you?" 

Sally  made  a  pretense  of  demurring.  "I  don't 
know.  It  wouldn't  be  quite  right,  would  it?" 

"What's  the  harm?"  he  begged. 

She  still  affected  to  hesitate.  "I'll  have  to  think 
about  it,"  she  murmured. 

199 


The  Trap 

Her  indecision  was  all  show.  She  had  already 
made  up  her  mind  to  go  with  him. 

"Will  you  go?"  asked  Hastings. 

"Well,  maybe,"  she  replied. 

Hastings'  delight  was  eloquent.  Elated  at  the 
progress  he'd  already  made  with  her,  he  did  not  sus- 
pect how  deftly  he  himself  had  been  led  along.  But, 
then,  neither  did  Sally  realize  that  his  purpose  was 
the  same  as  hers.  Both  bent  on  the  same  object, 
they  were  hurrying  together  toward  the  goal. 

The  car  rolled  on  down  the  hill.  It  was  tricky 
going — a  ditch  on  one  side,  a  soft  spot  deeply  rutted 
on  the  other,  yet  Hastings  managed  it  well  enough. 
Conscious  she  was,  watching  the  way  he  did  it,  that 
he  smiled. 

"Not  timid  of  my  driving  now,  are  you?" 

"I  ?  .  .  .  Why,  certainly  not.    Why  do  you  ask  ?" 

Hastings  gave  a  laugh.  "To  hear  Lester,  one 
would  think  I'd  never  driven.  He  acts  as  if  he  had 
a  monopoly  on  the  art." 

Sally  looked  at  him  curiously.  In  spite  of  his 
lightness,  his  tone  was  resentful.  It  was  the  first 
time  she'd  heard  him  speak  that  way  of  Lester. 
"All  I  can  say,"  added  Hastings,  "I'd  hate  to  be 
Mrs.  Dewitt  to-day.  I've  driven  with  Lester  when 

200 


The  Trap 

he  had  a  grouch  on.  The  night  I  came  here  I  felt 
as  if  I'd  been  shot  from  a  cannon." 

She  was  listening  intensely  now.  What  interested 
her,  however,  was  not  his  views  on  Lester's  driving. 
It  was  his  reference  to  Mrs.  Dewitt.  That  lady, 
her  fellow-guest,  had  taken  on  a  new  interest  with 
Sally.  The  interest  was  deep,  too,  though  she  didn't 
show  it. 

"Mrs.  Dewitt  must  be  used  to  his  driving,"  she 
suggested,  her  tone  idle.  "They've  known  each 
other  for  years,  haven't  they?" 

Hastings  nodded.  His  air,  too,  was  idle;  perhaps 
the  idleness,  like  hers,  was  affected.  "Lester  means 
to  marry  her,  I  suppose,"  he  said. 

She  already  had  suspected  it.  Curiously,  her  heart 
gave  a  dismal  throb. 

She  did  not  know,  of  course,  that  what  Hastings 
said  was  pure  bunkum;  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
Lester's  plans.  Hastings  and  Lester  she  believed  to 
be  intimates.  Her  air,  however,  gave  no  hint  of 
how  the  speech  had  disturbed  her.  She  was  rigidly 
steeling  herself  to  carry  on  the  part  she  played. 

But  though  she  was,  she  could  not  rid  her  mind 
of  what  he'd  said.  In  the  effort  to  lead  him  on,  to 

20 1 


The  Trap 

learn  more,  she  murmured,  "Mrs.  Dewitt  is  attract- 
ive, isn't  she?" 

Hastings  smiled.    "Do  you  think  so?" 

"Don't  you?"  asked  Sally. 

Evidently  he  didn't.  "Sallow  women  don't  inter- 
est me,"  avowed  Hastings.  The  type  he  preferred 
were  more  animated,  more  youthful  and  natural. 
This  he  said  with  a  tone,  with  a  look,  that  left  little 
doubt  of  his  choice.  But  Sally  was  too  absorbed 
to  notice.  She  might  be  done  with  Lester,  as  she 
told  herself,  yet  the  suggestion  that  he  meant  to 
marry  Mrs.  Dewitt  still  had  left  its  sting. 

The  discomfort  she  felt  had  another  side  to  it, 
too.  What  a  fool  she'd  made  of  herself — worse 
than  that,  what  a  fool  she'd  let  Lester  make  of  her. 
She  flushed  hotly  at  the  remembrance  of  how  she'd 
flung  herself  at  his  head,  tried  to  get  him  when  al- 
ready he  must  have  been  pledged  to  Fanny  Dewitt. 
Then  indignation  took  the  place  of  self-disparage- 
ment. She  herself  was  not  innocent,  she  knew;  but 
the  thought  that  Lester  had  only  played  her,  rilled 
her  with  growing  wrath. 

That  wasn't  all  of  it,  though.  There  was  still  one 
more  shock  in  store. 

Unconscious,  perhaps,  of  how  well  his  random 
202 


The  Trap 

shot  had  struck,  Hastings  was  still  commenting  on 
their  fellow-guest. 

He  abhorred,  he  said,  the  soft  purring  sort  of 
women.  What  he  detested  most  was  the  way  they 
strove  to  insinuate  themselves  into  one's  confidence. 
"I  suppose  she's  tried  to  pump  you,  too,  hasn't  she?" 
he  suggested,  his  speech  less  choice  than  usual. 

Sally  was  startled. 

"About  what?" 

Hastings  smiled,  his  air  still  casual.  "About  me. 
I  imagine  she  would." 

If  Mrs.  Dewitt  had,  Sally  didn't  say  so.  What 
concerned  her  was  herself.  If  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  been 
questioning  Hastings,  Sally  divined  what  it  must 
have  been  about.  Suspicion  breeds  its  own  alarms ; 
and  swiftly  she  caught  her  breath.  It  was  Mrs. 
Dewitt,  then,  who  had  been  responsible  for  the 
change  in  Lester's  attitude.  Did  Mrs.  Dewitt 
know? 

No  one,  however,  would  have  guessed  Sally's  mo- 
mentary disturbance. 

"I  see!"  she  laughed.  "Mrs.  Dewitt  has  been 
pumping  you  about  me!" 

The  question  went  unanswered.  Hastings,  like 
203 


The  Trap 

her,  was  evidently  instilled  with  the  same  self -con- 
cern. 

"Tell  me  what  she  asked  you,"  he  parried. 

"She  didn't  ask  me  anything,"  answered  Sally. 
"I've  hardly  spoken  with  her." 

She  did  not  see  his  evident  relief;  she  was  wait- 
ing to  learn  what  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  asked  him. 

"Nothing  much,"  Hastings  answered  carelessly. 

It  was  more  than  he  divined,  though.  Mrs.  De- 
witt had  asked  him  who  Sally  was,  where  she  had 
come  from,  when  and  where  Lester  had  met  her. 
Then,  too,  she  had  asked  about  Mrs.  Steese.  In 
Mrs.  Steese  she  had  seemed  especially  interested. 

As  the  car  drove  onward,  trundling  down  the  hill- 
side roadway  toward  the  distant  river,  Sally  sat 
back,  absorbed  in  the  reflections  her  lively  suspicions 
had  aroused. 

Again  her  distrust  of  Lester  returned.  If  Lester 
knew,  if  Mrs.  Dewitt  somehow  had  found  out  about 
her  and  had  told  it  all  to  Lester,  why  had  she  and 
Mrs.  Steese  been  asked  there?  Was  it  a  game? 
Had  she  been  brought  there  so  that  he  might  hum- 
ble her?  She  had  gleaned  already  Lester's  feeling 
toward  women.  Did  he  mean  somehow  to  punish 

204 


The  Trap 

her?  make  her  suffer  for  the  vulgar,  sordid  scheme 
of  which  she  and  Mrs.  Steese  had  been  guilty  ? 

How  near  to  the  truth  she  was  Sally  didn't  dream. 
The  suspicion,  however,  had  an  effect  opposite  to 
what  might  have  been  expected.  She  was  not  fright- 
ened, made  limp  by  it.  Guilty  as  she  knew  she  was, 
as  she  acknowledged  herself  to  be,  the  thought  that 
Lester  might  be  bent  on  punishing  her  armed  her 
with  a  wrath  that  was  like  a  weapon.  .  .  .  Let  him 
try !  .  .  .  Let  him  do  his  worst !  .  .  .  Now  that  she 
was  on  her  guard  she  could  laugh  at  his  clumsy 
efforts !  .  .  .  And  that  wasn't  all,  either :  While  he 
was  plotting  and  planning,  she  would  do  a  little  plot- 
ting, planning  of  her  own. 

It  was  very  simple.  All  she  must  do  was  to  keep 
her  head.  Lester  she  had  lost,  maybe;  but  that 
didn't  mean  the  whole  game  was  lost.  Lester  wasn't 
the  world's  only  prize.  There  were  others,  weren't 
there  ?  There  was  this  other  man,  the  man  there  in 
the  car  beside  her.  He  was  a  prize,  wasn't  he? 
Wasn't  he  just  as  much  a  prize,  a  greater  prize,  in 
fact?  More  than  that,  she'd  already  seen  what  a 
hold  she  had  on  him.  Why,  the  man  was  like 
putty  in  her  hands !  What  a  joke,  too,  it  would  be 
when  she  landed  him,  a  friend  of  Lester's,  an  inti- 

205 


The  Trap 

mate  of  his !  This  time  she  would  make  sure  of  her- 
self. She  would  make  so  sure  that  even  if  the  man 
learned,  was  told  by  Lester  all  about  her  and  Mrs. 
Steese,  he  still  would  cling  to  her.  And  that  she 
could  do  it,  she  was  sure.  Stung  by  her  wrath,  the 
anger  her  growing  suspicion  had  brought  to  her, 
Sally  assured  herself  that  there  was  nothing  she 
couldn't  do !  ...  Lester,  pshaw !  That  dolt !  What 
a  delight  it  would  be  to  trick  him!  How  she 
would  laugh  when  she  had  done  it !  The  resentment 
for  him  that  swept  over  her  fairly  made  her  quiver. 

"Cold?"  asked  Hastings. 

Sally  looked  up  at  him  with  an  alluring  smile. 
None  could  have  dreamed  from  the  look  she  gave 
him  of  the  tempest  that  still  stormed  within  her. 

"A  little,"  she  replied. 

Hastings  stopped  the  car.  Leaning  over  then, 
with  his  slender,  graceful  hands  he  turned  up  the 
fur  collar  of  her  coat,  buttoning  it  tightly  about 
her  throat.  Once  his  fingers  touched  her  cheek.  In 
the  touch,  the  way,  too,  the  fingers  lingered  at  their 
task,  was  something  possessive,  newly  intimate;  yet 
Sally  did  not  resent  it.  Then  he  got  out  a  rug  from 
under  the  seat,  and  tucked  it  closely  behind  her. 
Again  he  lingered  at  the  task. 

206 


The  Trap 

"Warmer?"  he  asked  solicitously. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  assured  him. 

Absorbed,  they  drove  on  through  the  gathering 
dusk.  Neither  spoke,  yet  the  silence  seemed  more 
pregnant  than  any  speech  could  have  been.  Evi- 
dently so,  for  as  the  car  shot  by  a  crossroad  they 
did  not  see  the  other  car  that  came  racing  up  it 
toward  them.  Neither  did  they  see  that  the  car 
turned  in  behind  them,  matching  its  speed  to  theirs. 
Much  less  did  they  realize  who  it  was  that  followed 
them. 

As  they  drove  in  through  the  upper  gate,  Hast- 
ings leaned  over  and  laid  a  hand  on  hers. 

"Don't  forget — after  dinner  you're  to  take  a  turn 
in  the  garden  with  me.  Try  to  slip  away  early, 
won't  you?" 

She  smiled  and  nodded. 

"I'll  try." 

At  the  door  she  gave  him  another  smile.  Slip- 
ping to  the  ground,  she  ran  up  the  stairs,  leaving 
him  looking  after  her.  He  followed  leisurely,  aglow 
with  satisfaction.  What  a  chance!  What  luck  it 
was!  Filled  with  it,  he  was  lolling  along  the  hall 
when  a  voice  hailed  him  gayly. 

207 


The  Trap 

"Ah,  there  you  are!  Just  the  one  I  wished  to 
see!" 

It  was  Mrs.  Dewitt.  With  a  gayety  that  only 
Mrs.  Steese  might  have  matched  she  was  wagging 
her  finger  at  him. 

"You  clever  boy,  how  you  managed  to  fool  me! 
To-day  I  happened  on  the  Cathcarts,  and  they  told 
me  all  about  you !  What  a  fellow  you  are !" 

Hastings,  agape,  stared  at  Mrs.  Dewitt.  Then 
every  vestige  of  color  in  his  face  went  out  and  left 
him  ghastly.  But  Mrs.  Dewitt  did  not  seem  to  no- 
tice. If  she  did,  she  affected  not  to  show  it. 

"Come  into  the  sitting-room,  Mr.  Hastings,"  she 
smiled.  "I  need  to  have  a  long,  long  talk  with 
you." 

Like  one  in  a  dream,  Hastings  followed  her. 


1 


CHAPTER  XIX 

two — Mrs.  Dewitt  and  Hastings — had 
hardly  entered  the  sitting-room  when  the 
door  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall  opened, 
and  Lester  entered.  For  a  moment  he  stood  there, 
framed  in  the  opening;  then  he  came  slowly  along 
the  passageway. 

Mawsby,  at  that  instant,  appeared  on  the  stairs. 

Lester's  eyes  fastened  themselves  on  the  valet. 
"Where  is  he?"  he  asked.  His  tone  was  thick;  his 
manner  was  that  of  a  man  laboring  under  a  burden 
— a  weight  that  seemed  ponderous  even  for  Les- 
ter's broad,  capable  shoulders.  Mawsby  indicated 
the  sitting-room  door. 

"Mr.  Hastings  is  in  there,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"Tell  him  I  want  him,"  directed  Lester. 

He  turned  and  trudged  back  along  the  hall.  In 
the  library,  his  movement  still  ponderous  and  weary, 
he  took  off  his  hat  and  coat,  dropping  them  in  a 
huddle  on  a  chair.  Then  he  stood  there  waiting. 

209 


The  Trap 

His  mind  he  had  made  up  now.  Lester  knew 
what  he  must  do. 

It  was  curious,  in  the  light  of  what  had  happened, 
how  the  decision  had  at  last  forced  itself  on  his 
mind.  That  day,  from  half -past  one  till  four,  he 
had  sat  there  alone  in  the  library  staring  at  the  em- 
bers in  the  grate.  Bit  by  bit,  the  whole  grotesque, 
sordid  business  had  come  back  to  him,  every  detail 
of  it  imprinted  on  his  memory  with  clear,  photo- 
graphic fidelity.  It  was  of  his  own  part,  however, 
not  Sally  Raeburn's  that  he  thought;  his  own  cow- 
ardly, cadlike  share  in  it  he  saw  now  with  a  vivid- 
ness not  to  be  mistaken.  True,  from  the  first  he 
had  had  no  delusions  of  what  he  had  been  doing; 
but  then  his  wrath,  the  anger  of  a  man  bitterly  hurt 
and  affronted,  had  helped  to  excuse  with  himself 
just  what  he  had  planned;  now  he  could  no  longer 
excuse,  condone.  Bitterly  he  acknowledged  the 
shame  of  what  he'd  done.  She  was,  after  all,  just 
a  young  thing — a  girl.  She  was  alone,  unguided, 
wanting  any  one  to  help  and  advise.  She  did  not 
realize  what  she  had  done  and  still  was  doing,  poor, 
forlorn  child.  But  he  would  make  amends.  He 
loved  her,  that  was  enough;  it  was  the  one  real 
thing.  And  that  he  loved  as  he'd  loved  no  one  else 

210 


The  Trap 

overbalanced  and  swept  aside  all  the  rest  of  it. 
Even  the  fact — or  what  he  thought  was  a  facfc — . 
that  she  cared  nothing  for  him  had  no  weight  with 
Lester  now.  She  would  marry  him,  he  felt  sure. 
Once  they  were  married,  he  would  try  to  teach  her 
to  love  him.  But  have  her  he  must.  It  was  no 
longer  any  use  to  fight  against  the  irreconcilable. 

The  decision  comforted  him.  Now  that  he  had 
given  in,  for  the  first  time  in  years  he  felt  a  mo- 
mentary peace  of  mind. 

It  was  queer,  perhaps ;  yet  for  a  brief  period  that 
afternoon  Lester  had  been  soothed  and  pacified  by 
that  happiness.  The  happiness,  however,  did  not 
last.  In  the  midst  of  it,  his  calm  was  blasted  by  a 
sudden  thought.  What  if  she  were  to  learn  the 
game  he'd  tried  to  put  up  on  her?  What  if  she 
were  to  hear  how  cadlike  and  cowardly  he  had  been  ? 
.  .  .  The  thought  turned  him  suddenly  cold. 

It  had  reason  to.  In  the  time  he'd  known  her, 
brief  as  it  had  been,  he  had  seen  how  high-spirited 
she  was.  She  would  not  take  tamely  an  affront  like 
that.  For  him,  the  brave  thing  was,  of  course,  to 
confess  it  all  ...  yes,  but  could  he? 

Now  that  he  meant  to  get  her,  he  began  for  the 
first  time  to  fear  he  mightn't. 

211 


The  Trap 

Then  came  another  thought.  What  if  the  plot 
he'd  planned  had  already  succeeded?  What,  if  in 
his  effort  to  compromise  her,  she  already  had  been 
compromised ! 

The  sweat  had  started  on  his  face. 

If  that  man.  ...  If  that  fellow.  ...  If  ... 

It  had  proved  too  much  for  him.  For  an  hour 
he'd  fought  it ;  then,  snatching  up  his  hat  and  coat, 
Lester  had  carted  from  the  house.  He  had  gone 
to  find  her. 

That  was  how,  by  luck,  mere  chance,  the  car  he 
drove  had  come  tearing  up  that  side  road  just  as 
the  other  car  shot  by.  The  two  in  it  he  had  recog- 
nized at  once.  At  once,  too,  as  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  pair,  the  blood  had  been  stricken  from  his  face. 

Mile  after  mile  he'd  followed,  watching — tor- 
tured by  what  he  saw.  The  torture,  too,  was  not 
lessened  by  the  remembrance  that  what  he  saw  he 
himself  had  planned.  Then,  as  he  peered  ahead 
through  the  dusk,  his  jaw  set  grimly. 

He  knew  how  he  would  end  it,  now. 

In  the  library  the  clock  struck  six.  In  nineteen 
minutes  the  down  train  would  be  leaving  Ferncliffe. 
But  now  Lester  no  longer  figured  on  the  train.  He 

212 


The  Trap 

meant  to  rid  himself  of  the  fellow  the  instant  he 
stuck  foot  inside  the  house.  If  it  were  midnight  he 
still  would  have  to  go. 

His  face  grim,  Lester  watched  the  library  door. 

For  a  second  time,  Mawsby  entered  the  sitting- 
room. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  the  master  will  be  waiting." 

His  tone  was  short,  crisp  to  the  point  of  brusque- 
ness.  Hastings,  however,  seemed  to  pay  no  heed. 
His  concern,  the  dismay  with  which  he  had  greeted 
Mrs.  Dewitt's  gay  announcement,  apparently  had 
left  him  now;  and  as  offhand,  indifferent  as  ever,  he 
waved  Mawsby  away. 

"I'll  be  there — presently,"  he  drawled. 

Mrs.  Dewitt  was  seated  by  the  fire.  Her  air,  too, 
was  indolent.  For  all  one  had  known  to  the  con- 
trary, she  and  Hastings  might  merely  have  been 
chatting. 

But  the  instant  the  door  closed  her  manner  swiftly 
changed. 

"Take  your  choice,  Mr.  Hastings,"  she  said 
firmly ;  "either  play  the  man,  or  I'll  wash  my  hands 
of  you!" 

Hastings  stared  at  her  sulkily. 
213 


The  Trap 

"You  needn't  worry,"  he  growled;  and  Mrs.  De- 
witt  shot  another  look  at  him. 

"Have  I  your  word  then  ?" 

"I've  given  it,  haven't  I?"  he  answered. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Dewitt,  and  she  rose 
— "you'd  better  go  to  him  now." 

His  air  careless,  smiling  contemptuously  to  him- 
self, Hastings  sauntered  to  the  door. 

"Sit  down,  please,"  said  Lester  quietly. 

Pushing  forward  a  chair,  he  turned  and  pressed 
a  bell  button  set  in  the  wall  beside  the  door.  Hast- 
ings watched  him  covertly.  "Thanks — I'll  stand," 
he  answered  leisurely.  "Anything  I  can  do  for  you, 
old  chap?" 

Lester  did  not  reply.  He  had  opened  the  door  to 
the  hall. 

Mawsby  was  standing  there. 

"Is  Lunt  waiting?"  asked  Lester. 

"Yes,  sir;  the  car  is  outside,  sir,"  answered 
Mawsby. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lester. 

He  closed  the  door,  and  moving  deliberately  across 
the  room,  went  to  the  big,  cumbersome  desk  that 
half -filled  the  space  before  the  window.  On  top  of 

214 


The  Trap 

the  desk  was  an  envelope  fastened  with  a  rubber 
band.  This  he  shoved  across  toward  Hastings. 

"There  is  your  money,  Hastings,"  said  Lester. 

If  Hastings  understood,  comprehended  what  was 
meant,  he  did  not  show  it. 

"My  what?"  he  inquired. 

"Your  pay,"  returned  Lester.  His  face  might 
have  been  a  mask  for  any  emotion  it  displayed. 
"I've  done  with  you,  Hastings,"  he  added. 

Hastings'  eyes  narrowed  themselves. 

"You're  what?"  he  asked. 

"Done  with  you,"  repeated  Lester.  Again  he  in- 
dicated the  money.  "Count  it,  if  you  please.  A 
thousand  dollars  was  what  we  agreed  on,  wasn't  it?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  air  of  quiet  on  his  face  did  not 
change  by  so  much  as  a  quiver. 

"Done  with  me?  ...  I  don't  believe  I  under- 
stand," drawled  Hastings. 

"Don't  you?"  returned  Lester— "I'll  make  it 
clearer,  then.  You  are  leaving  this  house,  Hastings. 
Your  bags  are  packed — I  make  you  a  gift  of  them 
and  the  clothes  I  bought  for  you;  there  is  your 
money,  my  car  is  waiting  to  take  you  to  the  city. 
.  .  .  Could  I  make  it  plainer?"  he  asked. 

Probably  not.    It  was  blunt,  not  to  say  brutal; 

215 


The  Trap 

yet  Hastings'  air  of  suave,  easy  self-assurance  still 
did  not  desert  him.  It  was  as  if  the  speech  amused 
him  lightly.  But  Lester  was  evidently  unconcerned 
now  in  Hastings'  affectations. 

Again  he  shoved  the  envelope  across  the  table. 

"There's  the  money,  Hastings.  You  are  leaving 
here  at  once." 

"And  what  if  I  decline  to  go?"  Hastings  inquired 
calmly.  Then,  as  calmly,  he  thrust  both  hands  into 
his  pockets  and  smiled. 

Lester  started  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 

"If  you  decline?  .  .  .  what's  that!" 

"You  heard  me,"  retorted  Hastings. 

His  smile  airy,  his  manner  contemptuous,  he  faced 
the  bulky  figure  that  stared  at  him  across  the  desk. 
"I'm  not  going,  and  I'll  tell  you  why,"  said  Hast- 
ings. "You  hired  me,  a  man  you'd  never  seen  be- 
fore, to  come  into  your  house  and  make  love  to  that 
girl  upstairs.  I  did  it,  too,  and  because  I  did,  that's 
why  you  wish  to  turn  me  out.  You  want  her  for 
yourself  now;  but  never  mind!  She  doesn't  want 
you,  she  doesn't  care  a  snap  of  her  finger  for  you; 
and  now  I'll  tell  you  why  I'm  going  to  stay.  I  mean 
to  marry  her  myself !" 

It  looked  for  an  instant  as  if  Lester  meant  to 
216 


The  Trap 

throttle  him  where  he  stood.    By  an  effort,  though, 
he  seemed  to  master  himself. 

A  laugh  left  him,  its  tone  harsh,  scornful,  con- 
temptuous. "You?  .  .  .  You  marry  her?  ...  a 
waster,  a  rotter  like  you !"  Again  he  laughed.  "A 
tramp  I  picked  up  from  a  park  bench!" 

"Don't  worry,"  grinned  Hastings;  "I'm  not  the 
only  rotter." 

"Maybe  not,"  retorted  Lester.  Then  his  face 
suddenly  savage,  he  took  a  step  toward  Hastings. 
"If  you're  not  out  of  this  house  in  fifteen  minutes," 
said  Lester,  "I'll— I'll " 

He  did  not  finish.  It  wasn't  needed ;  his  face  told 
the  rest.  Hastings,  however,  boldly  stood  his 
ground. 

"No,  you  won't !"  he  retorted ;  "you  won't  because 
you  dare  not!  You  put  me  out  of  this  house,  and 
I'll  let  that  girl  know  why  I  was  brought  here;  I'll 
tell  her  every  word  of  that  game  you  tried  to  put 
up  on  her."  Then  he  laughed,  his  laugh  as  scornful 
as  Lester's  had  been.  "Do  you  think  she'd  take 
you  then? — take  you  with  all  your  money,  even? 
Not  if  I  know  her,  she  wouldn't !" 

He  grinned  again  at  Lester,  his  air  more  self- 
assured  than  ever  now. 

217 


The  Trap 

"You'd  better  play  safe,  old  man.  You  do  the 
square  thing  by  me,  and  I'll  do  the  same  by  you; 
then  let  the  best  man  get  her  if  he  can!"  Still  smil- 
ing, he  sauntered  toward  the  door.  "But  mind  now 
— you  play  fair!  If  you  don't — well,  you  know 
what  I'll  do!" 

His  air  was  still  easy  and  assured  as  he  walked 
out  of  the  library,  and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AS  the  door  closed  and  the  light,  mocking 
face  withdrew  itself  from  view,  Lester 
stood  there  petrified.  What  his  reflections 
were  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say.  They  were 
not  clear  even  to  himself.  The  fact  remains,  though, 
that  never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  staggered  as  he 
was  by  Hastings'  effrontery. 

That  night  in  New  York  when  Mawsby,  raking 
the  park  benches,  had  brought  the  broken-down  dere- 
lict to  the  house  in  Fitzhugh  Square,  Lester  had 
formed  his  opinion  of  the  man.  *It  was  an  opinion, 
too,  that  had  not  improved  with  acquaintance.  The 
last  thing  he  had  looked  to  find  in  this  easy,  willing 
tool  he'd  picked  was  character — least  of  all,  any 
show  of  boldness.  What  was  more,  this  opinion 
was  not  based  on  the  little  he  had  seen  of  him.  Hast- 
ings having  let  fall  a  hint  of  his  origin,  Lester  had 
been  at  the  pains  to  investigate  his  history. 

The  man's  pretense,  all  his  talk  of  former  riches 
and  grandeur,  was  for  the  main  part  bunkum.  So 

219 


The  Trap 

were  his  claims  to  social  eminence.  He  had,  it  is 
true,  come  in  contact  with  many  persons  of  promi- 
nence; but  this  acquaintance,  considering  the  terms 
on  which  it  was  based,  would  hardly  have  filled  a 
man  of  any  character  with  pride.  But  of  that 
never  mind  just  now.  The  vital  thing  is  the  position 
in  which  Lester  found  himself.  It  was,  to  say  the 
least,  not  dignified. 

The  clock  struck  half-past  six.  In  half  an  hour 
it  would  be  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  but  dinner  was 
the  last  thing  Lester  thought  of  now.  His  face 
moist,  he  paced  the  library  floor. 

Anger  succeeded  stupefaction.  He  had  the  wish 
to  take  Hastings  by  the  throat  and  shake  the  life  out 
of  him  as  a  mastiff  would  shake  it  out  of  a  rat.  It 
would  be  a  pleasure,  of  course;  but  the  pleasure 
would  avail  him  little.  For  one  thing  it  would  not 
excuse  or  obliterate  his  own  guilt  in  the  affair. 
Neither  would  it  make  him  any  the  less  ridiculous. 
He  began  to  see,  in  fact,  the  pickle  he  was  in. 

Hastings'  threat  was  double-edged.  If  Hastings 
divulged,  as  he'd  warned  he  would,  what  Lester  had 
been  doing,  Lester  would  not  have  Sally  Raeburn 
alone  to  account  with — he  would  have  the  whole 
world  to  face.  Not  only  would  he  lose  her,  into  the 

220 


The  Trap 

bargain  he  would  be  the  laughing  stock  of  every 
person  who  knew  him.  It  is  unlikely,  however,  that 
Lester  let  this  weigh  with  him  at  the  moment.  What 
he  thought  of  most  was  its  immediate  effect  on  the 
woman  he  loved  and  wanted.  If  Hastings  told  what 
he  knew  it  would  not  only  make  Lester  ridiculous, 
it  would  make  her  ridiculous,  too.  And  he  knew 
clearly  what  that  involved.  Ridicule  is  the  last  thing 
any  woman  will  stand;  and  once  she  found  out  he 
was  the  cause  of  it,  no  explanations  or  apology 
would  get  her  to  forgive  him. 

There  was  just  one  thing  to  be  done.  Hastings 
he  could  not  oust  from  the  house  just  yet;  there 
would  be  a  scandal  if  he  did.  But  Hastings  he  might 
forestall.  One  thing  certain,  whether  he  won  Sally 
Raeburn  or  not,  he  must  leave  nothing  undone  to 
save  her  from  the  consequences  of  the  cowardly, 
cadlike  retribution  he  himself  had  planned  for  her. 

Yes,  but  how  could  it  be  done?  Heretofore  he 
had  told  himself  he  need  only  ask  her  to  marry  him 
to  have  Sally  jump  at  the  chance.  Now  he  wasn't 
so  sure  of  it.  She  was  not  the  sort  to  let  herself 
be  played  with,  and  already  he  had  seen  the  effect 
his  brusque,  brutal  treatment  had  had.  So  what  if 
she'd  already  turned  against  him? 

221 


The  Trap 

The  thought  was  not  new.  It  was  the  same 
thought  that  had  been  before  him  all  the  hours  of 
the  afternoon.  Again,  as  it  sprang  before  him,  the 
moisture  started  on  his  face  anew. 

It  was  grotesque,  absurd,  ridiculous — this  situa- 
tion in  which  he  found  himself.  It  was  the  sort  of 
thing  to  make  any  one  in  his  senses  laugh.  Lester 
himself,  for  that  matter,  was  tempted  to  laugh. 
However,  while  none  would  have  seen  quicker  how 
grotesque  and  outlandish  it  was,  the  fact  that  he  did 
lessened  little  of  his  feeling  of  savage,  blind  futility. 

What  could  he  do?  He  had  to  do  something — 
but  what? 

He  was  still  struggling  with  it  when  Mawsby 
knocked  on  the  library  door. 

"If  you  please,  sir;  Mr.  Ashe  just  telephoned." 

"Mr.  Ashe?"  In  Lester's  present  mood — abashed, 
humbled,  ashamed — Ashe  was  the  last  man  he  wished 
to  see.  He  stared  at  Mawsby  uncomfortably. 

"Did  you  say  I  was  at  home?  I  can't  talk  with 
him  now." 

"It's  not  necessary,  sir,"  was  Mawsby's  answer. 
"Mr.  Ashe  merely  wished  to  say,  sir,  he  was  driving 
over  here  to  dinner." 

222 


The  Trap 

Lester  repressed  the  exclamation  that  sprang  to 
his  lips. 

"You  mean  he's  left?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir;  he  was  leaving  at  once,  he  said." 

Lester  shrugged  his  shoulders  helplessly. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  wearily,  "have  Butes  set 
an  extra  place,  Mawsby" — and,  turning  away,  Lester 
again  began  to  pace  the  library  floor. 

Mawsby  waited  a  moment. 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir;  your  car  is  still  waiting  out- 
side. Is  Mr.  Hastings  to  be  taken  to  the  city?" 

Lester  reached  the  end  of  the  rug,  turned,  then 
came  back. 

"No,"  he  said. 

If  Mawsby  was  surprised  he  didn't  show  it. 

"Asking  pardon,  sir;  but  will  he  remain,  then?" 

Again  Lester  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  rug. 

"Yes." 

"Very  good,  sir;  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mawsby. 

He  was  halfway  out  of  the  room  when  Lester 
halted  him. 

"Mawsby." 

"Yes,  sir." 

For  a  moment  Lester  peered  at  the  valet,  study- 
223 


The  Trap 

ing  him  intently.  The  scrutiny  Mawsby  suffered 
with  his  usual  blank,  inscrutable  calm. 

"Mawsby,"  Lester  asked  abruptly,  "have  you  ever 
laughed?" 

Mawsby  started  as  if  he'd  been  jabbed. 

"I,  sir?" 

"Yes.    Have  you  ever  laughed  in  your  life?" 

"I  believe  so,  sir.    Yes,  sir.     I  think  so,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  for  God's  sake,"  said  Lester,  "go 
out  and  do  it  now!  Laugh — laugh  your  head  off! 
If  you  don't — if  somebody  don't,  I  think  I'll — 
I'll-T— " 

But  what  he  would  do  Lester  didn't  say.  Fling- 
ing open  the  library  door,  he  lumbered  out  into  the 
hall,  then  went  hurrying  up  the  stairs. 

Mawsby  was  quite  convinced  his  master's  wits 
were  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  will  be  recalled  that  when  Sally  Raeburn,  that 
morning,  flitted  down  the  stairs  to  go  on  her 
drive  with  Hastings,  she  had  left  Mrs.  Steese 
wildly  rattling  the  door  knob  of  the  room  adjoin- 
ing.    It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  though,  that  Mrs. 
Steese  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  doing  this.     She 
didn't.     The  instant  she  was  dressed  she  had  hur- 
ried in  pursuit.    But  Sally  already  had  gone. 

Baffled,  Mrs.  Steese  returned  upstairs.  Her  un- 
easiness now  was  evident.  The  direct  cause  of  this 
uneasiness  was  not  clear,  but  no  doubt  Mrs.  Steese 
had  ample  cause  for  her  disquiet.  At  any  rate,  not 
more  than  ten  minutes  or  so  had  passed  when  she 
came  hurrying  down  the  stairs  again,  this  time  with 
her  hat  and  wraps  on. 

Her  agitation  was  convulsive  now. 

"What  time  does  the  next  train  leave?"  she  de- 
manded breathlessly. 

Butes  glanced  at  the  clock.  "In  twenty  minutes, 
madam." 

225 


The  Trap 

Mrs.  Steese  gave  a  gasp.  "Is  there  a  car  at  the 
stable  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  madam,"  replied  Butes. 

"Get  it,"  ordered  Mrs.  Steese. 

In  fact,  to  make  sure  there  should  be  no  delay, 
Mrs.  Steese  darted  out  of  the  door,  and  hurried  up 
the  driveway  to  the  stable.  The  car  was  one  devoted 
exclusively  to  the  use  of  the  servants,  but  Mrs. 
Steese  did  not  mind  that.  Neither  did  she  mind 
that  it  was  driven  by  a  stablehand  in  overalls.  He 
offered  to  change,  but  Mrs.  Steese  wouldn't  wait. 
Twenty  minutes  later  she  was  aboard  the  train,  on 
her  way  to  the  city. 

She  was  absent  most  of  the  day.  What  the  jour- 
ney involved,  Mrs.  Steese  hadn't  divulged,  but  that 
it  had  been  still  further  agitating  to  her  mind  was 
evident  the  instant  she  returned  to  Ferncliffe. 

It  was  just  striking  five  when  a  hack  from  the 
station  brought  her  home ;  and  from  her  appearance 
at  the  moment  one  had  the  impression  that  only  by 
the  utmost  self-control  had  she  induced  herself  to 
come  back.  Butes,  at  the  door,  eyed  her  somewhat 
in  wonder. 

"Mrs.  Dewitt,  madam,  will  wish  to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Steese  started. 

226 


The  Trap 

"Mrs.  Dewitt?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

Mrs.  Steese  did  not  reply.  Furtive  and  subdued, 
more  shifty-eyed  than  ever,  she  slipped  into  the 
house  and  hurried  up  the  stairs.  The  door  of  her 
room  she  locked  behind  her.  Then  having  removed 
her  hat  and  wrap,  after  a  moment's  reflection  she 
also  took  the  precaution  of  removing  from  the  lock 
the  key  to  the  adjoining  room.  Afterward,  with 
what  patience  she  could  muster,  and  a  look  in  her 
eyes  of  hunted  doubt,  Mrs.  Steese  sat  down  to  wait 
for  Sally  Raeburn. 

The  singular  part  of  it,  however,  was  that  not 
more  than  a  half  hour  after  this  her  door  opened 
and  she  came  tripping  down  the  stairs,  every  vestige 
of  her  former  disquiet  gone.  She  was  even  smiling1 
gayly. 

"Has  Miss  Raeburn  come  in?"  she  inquired. 

"Not  yet,  madam,"  responded  Butes. 

"Well,  the  minute  she  does,"  directed  Mrs.  Steese, 
"you  let  me  know.  I'm  going  out  to  the  green- 
house to  get  some  roses." 

She  departed,  humming  to  herself.  She  was  still 
humming  when  she  returned  with  the  roses.  As  six 
o'clock  struck  and  Sally,  now  returned  from  her 

227 


The  Trap 

drive,  hastened  up  the  stairs  to  her  room,  Mrs. 
Steese's  gayety  had  not  subsided.  Caroling  lightly, 
she  was  laying  out  on  the  bed  the  brightest  of  her 
dinner  dresses. 

"Oh,  hello,"  murmured  Sally. 

Her  air  was  listless.  In  the  brief  moment  since 
she  had  stepped  out  of  the  car  in  front  the  pleasant 
brightness  of  her  air  had  altered.  Over  the  stair- 
rail,  as  she  tripped  upward,  she  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
library  door  and,  in  the  doorway,  of  Lester.  He 
had  not  seen  her,  he  was  looking  along  the  hall; 
but  as  she'd  seen  him,  Sally  had  hurried  on.  He 
had  his  hat  and  coat  on,  as  though  he  had  just  come 
in.  That  was  not  why  she'd  hurried,  though;  she 
had  done  with  Lester,  hadn't  she?  But  for  some 
reason,  as  Sally  hastened  toward  her  door,  there 
was  in  her  eyes  a  faint  cloud  of  concern,  of 
trouble. 

A  series  of  little  exclamations  escaped  Mrs. 
Steese  at  Sally's  listless  greeting. 

"My  dear,  what  a  day  I've  had!  Such  a  day! 
Gracious  I" 

"Have  you?"  Sally  replied  calmly. 

Mrs.  Steese  was  still  ejaculating.  Now  that  Sally 
had  returned  and  she  had  some  one  to  whom  she 

228 


The  Trap 

could  pour  out  all  her  confidences,  Mrs.  Steese  was 
evidently  determined  to  make  good  use  of  the  op- 
portunity. At  first,  however,  Sally  paid  little  atten- 
tion. She  was  too  accustomed  to  her  companion's 
exclamative  nature  to  let  it  ever  excite  her,  but  as 
Mrs.  Steese  rattled  on,  Sally  started  suddenly. 

"What's  that?"  she  interrupted. 

Mrs.  Steese  took  another  start. 

"Just  what  I  say,  my  dear.  She'd  guessed  what 
was  going  on,  and  she  dropped  in  to  have  a  little 
chat  about  it.  I  was  quite  astonished.  You  know, 
of  course,  how  at  first  we  disliked  her;  but  all  that's 
just  nonsense.  Why,  she's  one  of  the  nicest,  most 
friendly  women  I've  ever  met ;  and  she's  taken  such 
a  shine  to  you,  besides.  She  made  me  promise  I'd 
say  nothing  to  you  about  it,  but  she  just  hopes  you're 
going  to  succeed.  My,  but  you're  a  sly  puss, 
though!"  concluded  Mrs.  Steese. 

Sally  gazed  at  her  in  wonder. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?"  she 
asked. 

"What?  .  .  .  why,  Mrs.  Dewitt,  of  course,"  was 
the  reply. 

"Mrs.  Dewitt?"  murmured  Sally. 

"Why,  yes!    What  did  you  suppose  it  was?" 
229 


The  Trap 

"You  say  you  had  Mrs.  Dewitt  in  here  talking 
about  me  ?"  asked  Sally,  her  lips  still  parted  in  won- 
der. 

"Yes — about  you  and  a  lot  else.  She  told  me  a 
heap  about  him,  too.  He's  one  of  the  best  catches 
in  New  York." 

"Who  is?"  asked  Sally. 

"That  fellow  Hastings — who  do  you  think  I 
mean?"  She  gave  another  excited  chuckle.  "My, 
but  you're  clever!  I  didn't  even  suspect  what  you 
were  up  to!"  Then  instantly  she  grew  serious. 
"But  you've  got  to  be  quick  about  it,  Sally.  The 
first  chance  you  get  you've  got  to  snatch  him  up. 
There  isn't  any  time  to  waste." 

There  was  in  Mrs.  Steese's  air  now  a  momentary 
hint  of  uneasiness  that  Sally  was  quick  to  see.  Un- 
easiness, of  course,  was  nothing  novel  in  Mrs. 
Steese ;  but  now  Sally's  own  uneasiness  had  returned 
She  waited  rigidly  for  Mrs.  Steese  to  disclose  what 
she  had  to  tell.  One  had  only  to  do  that  with  Mrs. 
Steese — wait.  Given  time  and  she  would  divulge 
her  soul's  secrets. 

"I  saw  Steese  to-day,"  she  announced. 

"Well,"  inquired  Sally  unimpressed. 

"Can  you  keep  your  nerve?"  asked  Mrs.  Steese, 
230 


The  Trap 

Sally  stared  at  her.  A  chill,  for  an  instant,  plucked 
at  her  heart  with  an  icy  hand.  "What  happened  ?" 
she  asked. 

"It's  just  this,  Sally:  After  you'd  gone  I  got 
worrying  over  things.  The  way  Mr.  Lester  was  act- 
ing bothered  me.  I  wondered  if  by  any  chance 
Steese  had  played  the  fool.  He  gets  awful  busy, 
you  know,  if  ever  he  smells  a  piece  of  money.  It 
got  on  my  nerves  so  I  couldn't  stand  it,  so  'long 
about  noon  I  skipped  up  to  town,  and — and " 

Sally  was  ready  for  the  worst. 

"Well?" 

"Now  don't  lose  your  head,"  warned  Mrs.  Steese, 
— "it  ain't  nearly  as  bad  as  it  looks.  All  you've  got 
to  do  is  land  that  fellow  Hastings — he's  just  a  sap- 
head,  so  that  won't  be  any  trouble ;  then  when  you've 
got  him  tied  up  we  can  tell  Lester  to  go  whistle. 
Why,  Mrs.  Dewitt  tells  me  he's  got  twice  the  money 
Lester  has ;  and — ouch !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Steese,  "let 
go  my  arm;  you're  hurting  it!" 

"What  did  your  husband  say?"  demanded  Sally. 

Her  face  was  ashy.  She  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  With  a  scowl  of  disgust  Mrs.  Steese 
snatched  her  arm  away. 

231 


"What's  the  use  of  getting  so  excited?"  she  mum- 
bled. 

"Answer  me!"  commanded  Sally.  "What  did 
your  husband  say?" 

"He  didn't  say  anything — not  much,  anyway,"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Steese.  "He  let  on,  though,  he'd  seen 
Lester." 

Sally  caught  swiftly  at  her  breath. 

"You  say  he  saw  Lester!"  she  whispered. 

It  was  so.  As  Mrs.  Steese  also  added  Steese  had 
been  "pretty  sore  about  it."  Lester,  he'd  said,  hadn't 
treated  him  as  one  gentleman  would  treat  another. 
He'd  acted  just  as  if  Steese,  to  use  Steese's  own 
account,  was  some  cheap  skate  who  could  be  bought 
off  for  a  couple  of  dollars. 

Sally's  heart  gave  another  dismal  leap. 

"You  mean  he  tried  to  get  money  out  of  Mr. 
Lester?" 

Mrs.  Steese  nodded  grumpily. 

"Oh,  my  soul!"  whispered  Sally. 

Her  mouth  drawn,  she  stifled  the  sob  that  sprang 
into  her  throat.  Mrs.  Steese  gazed  at  her  morosely. 
The  shame  that  shone  in  the  girl's  face  now  meant 
nothing  to  Mrs.  Steese;  she  could  construe  Sally's 

232 


The  Trap 

emotion  only  in  the  one  way  she  herself  was  af- 
fected. 

"I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  be  scared  about,"  she 
mumbled.  "I've  been  figuring  it  out,  and  even  if 
Lester's  tumbled  to  what  we're  up  to,  he  can't  do 
anything.  I  guess  girls  Ve  tried  to  marry  men  with 
money  before — nothing  criminal  in  that.  The  worst 
he  c'd  do  would  be  to  turn  us  out  here.  Unless  I'm 
fooled,  too,  he  won't  do  even  that." 

Sally  caught  at  her  breath  again.  Mrs.  Steese's 
frank  vulgarity  always  grated  on  her;  but  hereto- 
fore her  djstaste  had  been  tempered  with  amusement 
for  the  woman's  naivete.  Now,  however,  she  gazed 
at  her  in  horror. 

"Turn  us  out?"  she  gasped. 

"What  if  he  does?"  retorted  Mrs.  Steese. 

"Oh,  my  soul!"  Sally  said  again. 

In  the  shame,  in  the  horror  and  disgust,  too,  that 
shook  her,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  convulsed, 
overwhelmed.  But  the  loathing  she  felt  was  not  all 
for  Mrs.  Steese;  she  loathed  herself  as  well.  Mrs. 
Steese  was  still  speaking.  Again  she  had  returned 
to  the  topic  of  her  plans;  and  aware  now  that  if 
she  meant  to  accomplish  anything  it  must  be  done 
with  haste,  she  was  saying  this,  at  the  same  time 

233 


The  Trap 

glibly  reassuring  Sally  she  had  no  reason  to  lose  her 
head.  "All  we  got  to  do  is  to  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip, 
then  we  c'n  land  that  saphead,"  was  her  remark. 

It  was  to  Hastings  obviously  she  referred;  and 
Sally  snatched  her  hands  from  her  face. 

"Stop !"  she  commanded. 

Mrs.  Steese  gaped  at  her  in  surprise.  Sally  was 
confronting  her,  both  hands  clenched  at  her  sides, 
her  eyes  blazing. 

When  Sally  spoke,  however,  her  voice  was  low 
and  controlled. 

"Don't  speak  another  word  to  me,  Mrs.  Steese! 
I'm  as  guilty,  as  shameful  as  you  are;  but  that  does 
not  matter  now.  .  .  .  No,  don't  speak!  I'm  not 
done  yet!  To-morrow,  you  and  I  will  part.  The 
first  thing  in  the  morning  you  will  pack  your  things 
and  leave  this  house.  If  you  are  not  out  of  here  by 
noon,  I'll " 

She  got  no  chance  to  finish. 

"What !"  cried  Mrs.  Steese. 

"Don't  raise  your  voice,"  warned  Sally;  "if  you 
do  they  may  hear  you  and  turn  us  out  to-night. 
Mr.  Lester  knows  everything,  I'm  quite  sure  of 
that — so  does  Mrs.  Dewitt,  too,  I  suspect.  But 
never  mind  that — you  and  I  are  parting,  Mrs. 

234 


The  Trap 

Steese ;  and  by  noon  to-morrow  you  will  be  on  your 
Way  to  New  York!" 

Mrs.  Steese's  pale  orbs,  in  her  excitement,  were 
popping  from  their  sockets. 

"Have  you  gone  crazy  ?"  she  gasped. 

"No,"  replied  Sally,  "I  was  never  saner  in  my 
life." 

"Do  you  understand  what  you're  saying?" 

"Perfectly." 

"D'you  mean  if  I  don't  go  you'll  run  and  blab 
everything  to  Lester?" 

"I  didn't  say1  what  I'd  do,"  replied  Sally— "I  said 
that  you  would  have  until  noon  to  leave  this  house." 

Mrs.  Steese's  eyes  had  begun  to  snap  now. 

"I  see  what  you're  up  to !"  she  proclaimed.  "You 
want  to  get  rid  of  me  so  you  c'n  have  a  free  rein 
with  that  fellow  Hastings!  You  think  if  you  c'n 
get  rid  of  me  you  won't  have  to  pay  me  my  little 
rake-off!  I  never  did  trust  you,  anyway,"  added 
Mrs.  Steese,  her  anger  venomous  now;  "I  always 
suspected  you'd  try  to  put  one  like  this  over  on  me ! 
I  was  on  to  you  from  the  first — you  with  your  make- 
believe  innocence!  you  with  your  bluff  of  turning 
down  a  man  because  you  didn't  love  him — pshaw! 
You  can't  fool  me — you'd  take  the  first  man  that 

235 


The  Trap 

offered  himself,  if  he  had  anything!  .  .  .  and  that's 
what's  wrong  with  you  now!"  cried  Mrs.  Steese, 
getting  her  breath  again — "you  didn't  get  the  others 
— you  didn't  get  Lester,  either;  and  it's  made  you 
sore.  Because  you're  sore  you're  trying  to  put  the 
blame  on  me.  Yes,  you  are!  You  think  you  c'n 
get  away  with  it  alone,  so  you  want  to  get  rid  of 
me  now!"  A  cackle  of  derision,  of  rage,  escaped 
her  now.  "Well,  you  won't,  Miss !  You  and  I  don't 
part  till  I  get  every  cent  that's  coming  to  me!" 

Her  face  vindictive,  Mrs.  Steese  walked  to  the 
door  of  her  room,  and  paused  there. 

"Now  listen  to  me,  young  lady.  I'm  not  leaving 
here  at  noon  to-morrow,  and  I'm  not  leaving  the 
next  day,  either.  .  .  .  And  don't  you  try  any  of 
your  tricks,  you  hear  me  ?  The  minute  I  find  you're 
up  to  anything  funny,  I'll  go  to  that  young  fellow 
you're  after  now,  and  tell  him  all  I  know!" 

It  was  evidently  Hastings  she  meant.  Sally,  how- 
ever, made  no  response.  Quite  white  now,  she 
waited  for  Mrs.  Steese  to  go. 

But  Mrs.  Steese  was  in  no  haste  to  depart. 

"Mind  now,"  she  warned,  "no  funny  business!" 

"Please  go,  Mrs.  Steese,"  said  Sally  now.  "I 
have  only  a  few  minutes  to  dress  for  dinner." 

236 


The  Trap 

Mrs.  Steese  lingered  now  enough  to  deliver  a 
valedictory  remark. 

"You  poor  simp,"  she  said  contemptuously — "as 
if  I'd  let  a  chit  like  you  trifle  with  me !" 

She  departed  then  with  a  sniff. 

The  sniff  Sally  didn't  heed.  Neither  had  she 
heeded  seriously  Mrs.  Steese's  threat  to  divulge 
everything  to  Hastings.  In  the  first  place,  Mrs. 
Steese  wouldn't  dare.  In  the  second  place,  Sally 
didn't  care  if  she  did.  After  her  day  with  Hast- 
ings she  no  longer  had  any  fear  of  the  effect  the 
revelation  would  have  on  her. 

Pale  but  determined,  Sally  dressed  herself  for 
dinner. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXII 

dinner  was  at  half-past  seven.  A  few 
minutes  before  the  time,  the  door  of 
Sally's  bedroom  opened ;  and  still  pale  and 
repressed  she  stood  there  for  a  moment,  peering  out 
into  the  hall.  The  hall  was  vacant ;  and,  closing  the 
door  behind  her,  Sally  went  swiftly  to  the  staircase. 
There  she  halted,  her  head  bent  and  listening  acutely. 

On  the  floor  below  a  murmur  of  voices  could  be 
heard.  Among  them  was  Mrs.  Steese's,  its  note,  as 
usual,  shrilly  animated;  and  as  if  assured  by  this, 
Sally  started  slowly  down  the  stairs.  It  was  clear, 
however,  that  only  by  an  effort  was  she  forcing 
herself  to  the  ordeal  of  facing  the  roomful  of  people 
downstairs.  The  encounter  with  Mrs.  Steese  had 
been  illuminating.  She  realized  now  with  a  clear- 
ness she  no  longer  strove  to  obscure  just  what  her 
presence  in  that  house  involved. 

In  that  mad  moment  when  desperate  from  want, 
embittered,  too,  by  the  way  the  world  had  deserted 

238 


The  Trap 

her,  Sally  had  attached  herself  to  Mrs.  Steese,  the 
true  significance  of  Mrs.  Steese's  suggestions  she 
had  hidden  from  herself.  She  had  merely  meant  to 
marry.  All  girls  hunted  a  husband,  didn't  they? 
Now,  however,  that  old  excuse  wouldn't  serve.  If 
her  host,  as  Mrs.  Steese  had  so  idly  suggested, 
should  turn  her  out  of  the  house,  she  assured  herself 
it  would  be  only  what  she  deserved. 

The  shame,  the  horror  of  it,  was  engulfing.  The 
fear,  however,  that  Lester  would  denounce  her  to 
the  others  was  not  what  horrified  Sally.  Curiously, 
she  cared  little  about  them.  She  was  conscious  she 
would  care  little  even  if  Hastings  were  to  learn. 
What  tortured  her  was  the  feeling,  a  certainty  now, 
that  Lester  knew  everything.  That  he  should  know 
was  enough.  It  outweighed  even  her  dread  that  he 
would  do  what  Mrs.  Steese  had  suggested;  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  halted,  grasping  blindly  at 
the  stair  rail  for  support. 

She  had  the  panic-stricken  impulse  to  flee.  Les- 
ter she  dared  not  face.  The  others  did  not  count; 
but  the  thought  of  sitting  out  that  dinner  with  Les- 
ter's dark  eyes  searching  her  to  the  soul  was  more 
than  she  could  endure.  Somehow,  though,  she  re- 
strained herself.  To  flee  would  not  help  her  now, 

239 


The  Trap 

she  realized.  She  must  stay  here  and  face  what 
happened,  brazening  it  out  to  the  bitter  end. 

To-night  was  the  turning  point.  To-night  was 
left  her  in  which  to  do  what  she  had  to  do.  It  must 
be  done  swiftly,  of  course;  but  she  could  do  it. 
After  that  it  would  not  matter  much  what  happened. 
All  she  asked  was  the  strength  to  get  through  with 
that  one  night;  and  a  prayer  on  her  lips,  her  face 
tortured  into  a  disguising  smile,  Sally  stepped  into 
the  sitting-room. 

The  next  instant,  her  heart  clanging  with  a  dis- 
mal throb  of  despair,  she  wished  devoutly  she  had 
given  way  to  her  impulse  and  fled. 

"My  dear  young  lady !"  cried  a  voice. 

It  was  Ashe.     Sally's  heart  gave  another  throb. 

He  hurried  forward,  both  hands  outstretched,  his 
pleasant,  kindly  old  face  wreathed  with  a  cordial 
smile.  "Delighted !"  cried  Ashe ;  and  it  was  this  de- 
light, so  evident  in  its  sincerity,  that  swept  the 
ground  out  from  under  Sally's  feet. 

Lester,  she'd  prepared  herself  to  face.  She  was 
prepared  also  to  face  Mrs.  Dewitt,  fencing  with  her 
thrust  for  thrust.  Mrs.  Steese,  too,  no  longer  con- 
cerned Sally ;  she  no  longer  feared  her  or  was  horri- 
fied at  her  presence.  For  Hastings  she  felt  an  equal 

240 


The  Trap 

unconcern — Hastings  she  might  even  play  with  as 
she'd  played  with  him  that  day.  But  Ashe  she  had 
not  counted  on.  Sincere,  kindly,  straightforward 
as  she  knew  the  old  man  was,  she  could  not  face  him 
as  she  would  face  the  others,  brazenly  playing  a 
part.  His  friendliness  disarmed  her.  His  pleasure 
at  seeing  her  struck  every  weapon  from  her  grasp. 
As  Ashe,  with  graceful,  old-fashioned  courtesy  bent 
over  and  brushed  her  hand  with  his  lips,  the  misery 
in  the  girl's  bruised,  lonely  heart  burst  its  bounds; 
a  sob  rose  choking  in  her  throat. 

Across  the  room  she  saw  Lester  looking  at  her. 
It  did  little  to  restore  her  calm.  Ashe,  however,  did 
not  appear  to  see  her  distress. 

"Now  tell  me  everything !"  he  demanded.  "What 
have  you  been  doing?" 

With  an  effort  Sally  dragged  her  wits  together. 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  been  doing  anything,"  she 
replied. 

"What,  what?  Haven't  you  gone  picnicking?  had 
a  party?  climbed  the  hills  across  the  river?"  When 
she  shook  her  head,  he  looked  quite  incredulous. 
"Come,  come,  this  will  never  do !  Harry  Lester  will 
have  to  do  better  than  this  for  you!"  Then  he 
chuckled  slyly.  "I'll  tell  you  what,  my  dear — to- 

241 


The  Trap 

morrow  I'll  drive  over  early,  and  if  none  of  the 
others  will  go,  you  and  I  can  go  by  ourselves.  We'll 
have  a  picnic  together!" 

Sally's  heart  again  sank  dismally.  To-morrow? 
Reply  she  could  not,  for  fortunately  the  necessity 
was  spared  her. 

"Dinner  is  served,"  Butes  announced  at  the  door ; 
and  silently  Sally  took  the  arm  Ashe  gallantly  of- 
fered her.  She  could  not  have  spoken  now  to  save 
her.  To-morrow  ?  She  wondered  what  Ashe  would 
think  on  the  morrow.  What  she  wondered  most  was 
what  he  would  think  of  her. 

She  looked  up  consciously.  Hastings  was  just 
beside  her.  As  his  eyes  caught  hers,  Hastings'  mouth 
framed  a  silent  message  to  her.  It  was  what  he'd 
said  the  last  thing  in  the  motor. 

"Don't  forget — right  after  dinner — slip  away 
outside." 

The  color  flooded  into  her  pale  face,  a  crimson 
tide,  as  her  eyes  dropped  from  his. 

Hastings,  as  he  saw  it,  smiled  obscurely. 

One  happening,  an  event  of  more  than  momen- 
tary significance,  took  place  as  they  reached  the  din- 
ner-table. 

"Miss  Raeburn!"  Lester  said  abruptly. 
242 


The  Trap 

He  had  hurried  to  his  place.  His  face  smiling, 
he  had  drawn  out  the  chair  at  his  right.  It  was  the 
seat  formerly  occupied  by  Mrs.  Dewitt;  the  lady 
was,  in  fact,  about  to  take  it,  when  Lester  indicated 
a  chair  at  the  other  end.  "Sit  there,  Fanny,"  he 
directed ;  and  with  a  start,  a  stare  of  sudden  surprise, 
Mrs.  Dewitt  moved  slowly  away. 

Poor  Sally !  She  had  encouraged  herself  with  the 
thought  that  at  dinner  she  would  be  far  enough 
away  to  avoid  him.  Startled,  she  shrank  away. 

Lester,  if  he  saw  it,  gave  no  sign.  He  was  smil- 
ing pleasantly. 

"Sit  here,  won't  you?"  he  begged;  and,  trembling, 
Sally  seated  herself.  She  was  still  trembling  as  she 
picked  up  the  napkin  from  her  place,  and  laid  it  in 
her  lap.  A  moment  later  she  divined  dimly  in  the 
tumult  of  her  mind  that  Lester  was  leaning  toward 
her,  that  he  was  saying  something,  his  voice  low- 
ered. 

"Nice  to  get  you  back  again  by  me,"  said  Lester; 
then — "How  very  pretty  that  dress  of  yours  is 
to-night." 

Across  the  table  she  saw  Hastings  peering  at  them 
covertly.  She  was  astonished  to  detect  a  sneer  upon 

243 


The  Trap 

his  mouth.  Glancing  away  hurriedly  her  eyes  next 
rested  on  Ashe.  Ashe  was  gazing  at  her  fixedly, 
and  as  she  thought,  sorrowfully. 

After  that,  for  a  long  while,  Sally  kept  her  eyes 
on  the  plate  before  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

COURSE  by  course  the  dinner  progressed 
toward  its  end.  Course  by  course  the  girl, 
half -distracted  by  the  emotions  that  racked 
her,  strove  to  steel  herself  to  the  task  of  brazening 
it  out.  The  ordeal,  however,  was  not  just  as  she 
had  pictured  it  and  dreaded  it,  as  she  had  come  fal- 
tering down  the  stairway,  driving  herself  by  sheer 
force  of  will  to  carry  out  her  part.  First  Ashe,  then 
Lester,  had  destroyed  what  shreds  of  courage  she 
had  left. 

It  was  Lester  most  of  all.  Frightened,  fearful, 
she  had  heard  that  first  whispered  speech  of  his;  and 
so  far  from  reassuring  her,  it  had  only  heightened 
her  dread.  He  was  playing  with  her!  She  read — 
or  so  she  thought — the  artifice  in  his  unexpected 
change  toward  her.  He  meant  to  lead  her  on,  then 
crush  her  brutally! 

The  thought  was  like  a  tonic.  She  listened,  her 
brain  striving  to  clear  itself  from  its  confusion — 
weighing,  estimating,  calculating  every  speech  he 

245 


The  Trap 

made.  His  lightest  remark,  at  first,  conveyed  to  her 
only  the  sinister  and  insinuating.  She  detected — or 
she  thought  she  did — a  veiled  subtlety  in  his  most 
insignificant  utterances.  But  the  task,  the  tearing 
strain  of  remaining  constantly  on  her  guard,  at  last 
was  more  than  she  could  bear.  She  had  the  wish 
to  leap  up  and  give  a  cry — to  hurry  hunted  from  the 
room.  With  equal  irresolution,  she  could  have  laid 
her  shining  head  on  the  cloth,  and,  arms  outstretched, 
abandoned  herself  to  the  sobs  that  forced  their  way 
into  her  throat. 

Meanwhile,  across  the  table,  Ashe  and  Hastings 
still  were  studying  her.  Hastings  she  ignored,  but 
the  look  on  Ashe's  face  was  as  haunting  to  her  as 
a  wraith.  In  it  she  read  now  a  clearer,  graver  pity. 
Did  he,  too,  know? 

She  awoke  to  hear  Lester's  voice  again. 

Like  Ashe  he  was  speaking  of  the  morrow.  His 
tone  almost  boyish  in  its  eagerness,  he  was  propos- 
ing an  outing  somewhere.  He  hoped,  too,  she'd  for- 
give him  the  way  he'd  run  off  and  left  her  that  day. 
But  to-morrow  he  would  make  amends  for  that.  If 
she  would  let  him,  he  meant  to  spend  the  entire  day 
with  her — the  day  after,  too,  if  she  cared  to  have 
it  so. 

246 


The  Trap 

Sally  listened  curiously. 

The  dinner,  by  then,  was  well  on  toward  its  end. 
Like  her,  Lester  had  eaten  little;  and  now  pushing 
away  the  plate  before  him,  he  turned  toward  her, 
his  face  lighted,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  an  excite- 
ment she  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 

"I  have  it !"  he  exclaimed.  "We'll  have  the  horses 
saddled,  and  start  early.  I  know  a  splendid  place 
back  among  the  hills.  I'll  have  a  car  follow  us 
with  the  luncheon  baskets,  and  we  can  spend  the 
day  at  it.  You  ride,  don't  you?"  he  asked. 

"What?"  asked  Sally  crudely,  awakening. 

He  repeated  it,  his  eagerness  and  enthusiasm 
bright  now.  It  was  the  Lester  she  had  known  first 
— the  man  who  had  wooed  her  on  the  rocks  at 
Monterey.  For  a  moment  her  heart  cracked  at  the 
thought.  How  kind  and  companionable  even  in  his 
gruffness  he  had  been  then!  How,  too,  she  had 
warmed  to  him,  trustful  of  the  big  man's  strength 
and  frank,  simple  manliness.  She  wondered  mo- 
mentarily had  she  really  loved  him.  Probably,  but 
what  of  that?  The  blight  of  his  money,  his  wealth, 
had  come  between  them  then. 

The  thought  made  her  wince.  What  a  fool  she'd 
made  of  herself!  As  the  hot  thought  coursed 

247 


The  Trap 

through  her  she  had  another  thought.  What  a  fool 
he'd  made  of  her!  Her  eyes  leaped  swiftly  across 
the  table.  They  went  now  to  Mrs.  Dewitt.  Mrs. 
Dewitt,  too,  had  begun  to  watch  them  now,  and  on 
her  face  Sally  saw  a  light,  mocking  smile. 

That  settled  it.  She  remembered  that  Lester  must 
have  been  pledged  to  this  woman  at  the  very  mo- 
ment he  was  making  love  to  her. 

Now  he  was  playing  with  her  again! 

"Will  you  go?"  Lester  was  asking  eagerly. 

The  instant  she  answered  she  would  have  given 
much  to  call  back  the  speech. 

"Not  to-morrow,"  she  said  nonchalantly, — "I've 
made  other  plans." 

It  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face. 

She  saw  him  wince,  the  smile  stricken  from  his 
face,  the  light  in  his  eyes  quenched  suddenly.  He 
gasped  audibly,  too. 

The  next  time  Sally,  plunged  in  woe,  painfully 
raised  her  eyes,  they  fell  again  on  Hastings.  He 
was  looking  at  Lester  now — not  her — his  air  cov- 
ertly triumphant.  But  Sally  gave  no  heed.  Her 
heart  aching,  she  had  for  Lester,  in  spite  of  all  she 
felt  against  him,  an  inexplicable  sense  of  pity  and 
regret.  If  only  she  could  repair  what  she  had  done ! 

248 


The  Trap 

But  Lester  gave  her  no  chance.  All  his  boyish 
eagerness  and  enthusiasm  gone,  he  sat  there  mute, 
somber,  self-absorbed.  So  passed  the  remainder  of 
the  dinner. 

He  was  still  sitting  there  when  the  guests  arose. 

Sally  stood  for  an  instant  by  her  chair,  clinging 
to  it  weakly.  The  impulse  to  flee — to  get  out  of  the 
house — to  get  away  from  it — seized  her  anew.  But 
it  was  only  for  a  moment.  She  could  not  leave  yet, 
she  still  had  a  part  to  play;  and  the  momentary 
weakness  gone,  she  threw  back  her  shoulders  reso- 
lutely. 

Across  the  room  Hastings  was  waiting  to  catch 
her  eye.  She  glanced  at  him,  and  as  their  glances 
met,  Hastings  gave  her  a  guarded  signal.  It  was 
what  she  had  awaited ;  and,  swiftly,  she  glided  from 
the  room. 

Leisurely,  Hastings  followed. 

Had  Hastings  known,  however,  why  Sally  kept 
that  tryst  he  had  been  at  such  pains  to  arrange,  it  is 
probable  Hastings  would  not  have  felt  so  self-satis- 
fied in  the  conquest  he  prided  himself  he  had  made. 

Her  face  like  steel,  Sally  was  in  the  porch  await- 
ing him. 

249 


The  Trap 

"Harry,"  said  Ashe. 

Butes  and  the  second-man  had  left  the  room,  and 
the  two  were  alone. 

Lester  looked  up  quietly. 

"Well?" 

Ashe  had  risen,  and  moving  toward  the  fireplace, 
he  planted  himself  on  the  hearthrug,  his  hands  thrust 
into  his  pockets,  his  keen,  clear  eyes  intent.  He 
did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Instead,  he  waited, 
intentionally  deliberate,  as  if  to  impress  on  the  man 
before  him  what  he  was  about  to  say. 

"My  boy,"  Ashe  said  solemnly,  "what  are  you 
doing  to  that  little  girl?" 

Lester  did  not  move.  He  gave  no  hint  in  his  face 
of  how  that  question  hit  him.  A  statue  could  not 
have  looked  more  impassive. 

"What  little  girl?"  he  asked. 

"You  know  perfectly,"  retorted  Ashe.  Slowly  he 
shook  his  head.  "It's  not  like  you,  Harry;  I  can't 
understand  it.  What  are  you  doing  to  that  child?" 

Lester  rose,  thrusting  back  his  chair.  He  smiled, 
his  lip  curled  derisively. 

"I'm  not  doing  anything,"  he  replied. 

"Yes,  you  are!"  said  Ashe — "I  saw  you  myself 
at  dinner.  I  saw  that  girl,  every  time  you  spoke  to 

250 


The  Trap 

her,  wince  as  if  she'd  been  struck.  You've  done 
something — and  don't  you  deny  it ! — that  makes  her 
dread  the  sight  of  you.  Now  what  is  it  you've 
done?" 

"I?"  inquired  Lester,  smiling  still. 

He  made  no  effort  to  defend  himself,  but  his  face 
queer,  he  stood  looking  quietly  at  Ashe.  That  was 
like  Lester,  though.  Once  convinced  he  merited 
punishment  he  took  it  without  a  sign.  And  Ashe  did 
not  spare  him  now. 

"Harry,"  he  demanded,  "who  is  that  fellow  Hast- 
ings?" 

Lester's  face  did  not  alter. 

"What's  Hastings  got  to  do  with  it  ?"  he  returned. 

"I  don't  like  that  man,"  said  Ashe  promptly — 
"he's  not  your  sort,  Harry;  and  you  know  it.  The 
man's  a  bounder  and  a  cad,  I  can  see  that!  Now, 
what's  he  doing  here?" 

"Why  shouldn't  he  be  here?"  parried  Lester. 

"I'll  tell  you  why,"  retorted  Ashe.  "He's  not  the 
sort  I'd  have  in  my  house !  He's  not  the  sort,  much 
less,  I'd  have  hanging  around  any  woman  I  cared 
about !  .  .  .  Tell  me  the  truth  now :  Why  have  you 
thrown  him  together  with  that  girl?  Do  you  or 
don't  you  love  her?" 

251 


The  Trap 

For  the  first  time  now  Lester's  face  gave  warning 
of  what  must  have  been  going  on  within  his  mind. 

He  looked  at  Ashe,  his  lips  compressed;  though 
still  he  smiled.  "Love  her?"  he  repeated — "I?" — 
and,  his  shoulders  dropping  suddenly,  his  smile  as 
wistful  as  a  boy's,  Lester  said  quietly :  "That's  what 
is  wrong  with  me,  don't  you  know  it?  It's  driven 
me  out  of  my  senses,  I  think — made  a  damned  cow- 
ardly cur  of  me!  .  .  .  Love  her?  .  .  .  Well,  don't 
worry,"  added  Lester,  his  jaw  set  suddenly;  "I'm 
going  to  get  her  now,  no  matter  what  it  costs!" 

Ashe  studied  him  a  moment. 

"I  was  afraid  of  that,"  he  said;  and  Lester  turned 
on  him  swiftly. 

"Afraid?" 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Lester. 

"You're  too  late,  my  boy.  You've  lost  her,  I  be- 
lieve. To-night  I  was  talking  to  Fanny  Dewitt ;  and 
she  says  Hastings  has  as  good  as  got  her.  .  .  . 
Here!  where  are  you  going?"  cried  Ashe. 

Lester,  giving  a  muffled  cry,  had  started  toward 
the  door. 

"Harry !"  cried  Ashe,  and  sprang  after  him.  By 
an  effort  he  managed  to  get  to  the  doorway  first. 

252 


The  Trap 

"Get  out  of  my  way!"  ordered  Lester;  but  old  Ashe 
manfully  stood  his  ground.  "Now  what  is  it?"  he 
demanded. 

Lester  began  suddenly  to  shake. 

"My  God,"  he  said  thickly,  "that  man  can't  get 
her!  The  man's  nothing  but  a  damned  tramp,  a 
loafer  I  picked  up  from  a  park  bench!  I  thought 
she'd  marry  any  one  for  his  money,  so  I  brought 
him  here  to  fool  her!" 

Ashe,  as  if  he  could  not  trust  his  sense*,  stared 
at  him  agape.  Then  he  let  go  of  Lester's  arm. 

"Well,  Harry,  that  finishes  it!  If  you  had  any 
chance  to  get  her,  that  ends  it  now,  I  see.  You've 
lost  her,  my  boy;  that's  certain!" 

There  was  every  probability  he  was  right,  too. 

The  porch  was  dark,  lighted  dimly  under  its  broad 
roof  only  by  the  faint  glow  of  light  that  came  from 
a  shaded  window  at  the  front.  Once  Hastings, 
however,  had  closed  the  door  behind  him,  he  seemed 
to  have  no  difficulty  in  making  out  a  slender  figure 
that  stood  there  by  the  rail.  Hurrying,  he  went 
toward  her  eagerly. 

It  seemed  to  Sally,  too,  that  he  was  quivering. 
253 


The  Trap 

"I've  not  kept  you?  I  got  here  as  soon  as  I 
could,"  he  said. 

"No,  you've  not  kept  me  waiting,"  she  answered. 
She,  too,  was  shaking  now. 

Hastings  wasted  no  time  in  preliminaries.  She 
felt  his  hand  reach  for  hers  in  the  dark.  Then  his 
breath  was  on  her  cheek. 

"You're  divine — lovely  to-night,"  he  whispered 
swiftly — "I'm  fairly  crazy  about  you,  little  girl" 

He  seized  her  in  his  arms. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

clock  in  the  dining-room  struck  half- 
past  nine.  Dinner  had  been  ended  for 
nearly  an  hour,  but  Ashe  and  Lester  still 
lingered.  Once  during  the  interval  since  the  ladies 
had  risen  and  departed,  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  appeared 
at  the  door,  her  manner  ruffled.  "Aren't  you  ever 
going  to  join  us?"  she  asked  icily.  Left  alone 
with  Mrs.  Steese,  the  part  she  played  of  bending 
graciously  to  that  person  evidently  had  proved  try- 
ing. "I'm  going  to  my  room  soon  if  you  don't 
come,"  she  warned. 

"In  just  a  moment,  Fanny,"  Ashe  replied ;  and  her 
air  manifestly  uneasy,  Mrs.  Dewitt  departed. 

Lester,  during  the  byplay,  had  not  spoken.  He 
was  standing  at  the  table's  other  end,  gazing  at  the 
floor. 

To  Ashe  he  had  told  everything.  In  the  telling 
he  had  spared  neither  himself  nor  any  detail  that 
added  to  the  remorse,  the  shame  he  felt.  It  began 
with  the  night  when,  enraged  by  the  conviction  that 

255 


The  Trap 

Sally  Raeburn  cared  only  for  his  money,  not  him, 
he  had  sent  Mawsby  to  bring  in  to  him  the  first 
battered  tramp  he  could  pick  up  from  the  benches 
in  the  square.  By  chance  he  had  lighted  on  Hast- 
ings. Wet,  ragged,  starving,  Hastings  had  readily 
accepted  the  terms  Lester  had  proposed  to  him.  This 
much  told,  Lester  also  related  how  he'd  brought 
Hastings  to  Ferncliffe,  how  he'd  had  him  clothed, 
supplied  with  a  rented  yacht  and  furnished  with  a 
motor.  The  rest  is  known.  It  remains  to  be  said, 
though,  that  the  man's  pretensions,  that  story  he'd 
related  of  former  wealth  and  grandeur,  were,  as  it's 
already  been  hinted,  little  more  than  moonshine. 
Hastings,  in  all  probability,  would  have  agreed  at 
any  stage  in  his  career  to  cart*/  out  Lester's  pro- 
posal. He  did  not  require  want,  hunger,  privation 
to  have  tempted  him ;  and  Ashe,  his  face  expressive, 
grunted  in  disgust. 

"The  waster!  I  knew  it  the  instant  I  saw  him! 
He  looked  to  me  like  a  milliner  in  trousers,  the 
damned  tame  cat!  A  social  secretary,  you  say?" 

It  was  so.  That  was  Hastings'  history.  Having 
let  fall  a  hint  of  his  origin,  Lester  had  been  at  the 
pains  to  investigate.  It  was  the  same  thing,  in  pass- 
ing, that  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  lighted  on.  Hastings' 

256 


The  Trap 

glib  reference  to  persons  she  knew  had  led  her  to 
go  to  them.  Afflicted  with  a  lust  for  the  smart,  the 
fashionable — pretenses  that  he  had  neither  the  wealth 
or  the  birth  to  gratify — the  man  had  drifted  nat- 
urally into  that  most  genteel  of  all  menial  occupa- 
tions, the  post  of  social  secretary.  That  explained 
his  acquaintance  with  the  ways  and  manners  of  the 
rich,  a  mere  mimicry  on  his  part.  It  explained  also 
the  rest  of  his  record — that  of  tramp  and  outcast. 
In  short,  it  being  the  common  ambition  of  such  men 
to  find  some  woman  willing  to  support  them,  Hast- 
ings had  sought  to  inflict  himself  on  the  niece  of  his 
employer.  The  result  had  been  that  he  found  him- 
self unceremoniously  ordered  out  of  the  house.  Pen- 
niless, unfitted  for  other  occupation  and  every  door 
closed  to  him,  he  had  gravitated  naturally  to  a  park 
bench. 

But  now !  .  .  .  Now  Hastings  had  the  whip-hand 
over  a  man  of  wealth  and  position.  Not  only  was 
he  in  a  position  to  threaten,  perhaps  blackmail,  he 
could,  unless  Lester  were  careful,  destroy  the  last 
chance  Lester  had  of  happiness. 

Lester,  though,  was  not  thinking  of  that.  A 
morose,  embittered  man  he  had  been,  one  hardened 
long  ago  by  that  injury  which  hurt  him  in  the 

257 


The  Trap 

one  place  it  could  hurt;  but  now  that  had  passed. 
The  wrong  he'd  done — that  and  the  realization  of 
it — seemed  to  have  stripped  from  him  his  old  self- 
centered  isolation.  True,  he  still  brooded;  but  now 
it  was  not  of  himself. 

Ashe  clipped  the  end  from  a  cigar  deliberately, 
and  helped  himself  to  a  match. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  he  inquired,  "what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it?" 

"Do  ?"  repeated  Lester  quietly.  "There  is  but  one 
thing  I  can  do — tell  her — tell  everything;  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it." 

Ashe  struck  a  match,  and  held  it  to  his  cigar. 

"Better  not,"  he  remarked. 

Lester  smiled. 

"Why  not?" 

Ashe,  having  lighted  his  cigar,  found  himself  a 
chair.  Deliberately  he  seated  himself,  then  as  de- 
liberately crossed  his  knees. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  if  you  do,  you  won't  gain 
anything.  In  the  second  place,  if  you  do,  you'll  lose 
every  chance  with  her  you've  ever  had." 

Lester  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"It's  no  go.    I've  got  to  tell  her." 

"Why?" 

258 


The  Trap 

"I've  got  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  It's  the  one 
rotten  trick  I've  ever  played  in  my  life.  I've  got  to 
pay  for  it  now." 

"I  see,"  Ashe  said  brutally,  "you  wish  to  salve 
your  own  conscience  no  matter  how  much  you  hurt 
her." 

The  moisture  started  on  Lester's  face. 

"It  has  to  be  done.  I  can't  get  rid  of  that  fellow 
any  other  way.  Besides,  the  minute  I  turn  him  out 
he'd  be  sure  to  tell  her." 

"Well,  Harry,"  Ashe  said  slowly,  "I  begin  to  be- 
lieve I'm  sorry  for  you." 

Out  on  the  porch  Sally  still  lingered  in  the  dark. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  now — indoors  she  heard  a  clock 
strike  the  hour,  its  chime  melodiously  distinct;  yet 
still  she  felt  no  inclination  to  go  back  to  the  sitting- 
room.  The  ordeal  of  facing  the  others  was  now 
far  more  than  she  had  either  the  strength  or  the 
courage  to  endure. 

Her  decision  she  had  carried  out.  It  was  not, 
however,  what  she  had  meant  to  do  when  she  went 
to  keep  her  appointment  with  Hastings.  What  she 
had  done  was  far  from  that.  And  now  that  she  had 
done  it  she  was  limp. 

259 


The  Trap 

Alone,  unbe  friended,  she  sat  face  to  face  with  all 
the  sordid  reality  of  her  plight. 

The  moon  was  rising,  peering  over  the  tip  of  a 
nearby  hill.  The  pale  light  filtering  through  the 
gaunt  tracery  of  the  trees  upon  the  slope  fell  upon 
her  face,  and  she  moved  restlessly,  drawing  back 
into  the  shadow.  The  light  she  dreaded.  She  had 
the  feeling  of  a  sick  wild  thing  that  creeps  into  a 
thicket  to  hide  itself.  Her  sense  of  solitude  and 
loneliness  was  engulfing.  If  only  she  had  some 
one  she  could  go  to!  If  only  there  was  one  soul  to 
whom  she  could  pour  it  out! 

The  queer  thing  then  was  that  she  remembered 
Lester. 

Lester  she  had  lost! 

The  misery  of  it,  her  loneliness  and  isolation  grew 
on  her.  She  remembered  him  as  he  had  been  that 
day  when  she  had  made  him  her  confidant.  It  was 
the  day  when  she  had  sat  with  him  on  the  rocks  at 
Monterey.  She  had  almost  told  him  all  that  day. 
And  how  kind  he  had  been.  How  quietly  and  gen- 
tly he  had  comforted  her  when  she'd  told  him  a  little 
of  the  tale.  If  only  she  had  told  him  everything! 

She  did  not  believe  now  he'd  played  with  her — 
260 


The  Trap 

not  then,  anyway.  She  knew  it  was  she,  herself, 
who  had  played  false.  Oh!  if  now  she  only  had 
him  to  go  to!  .  .  . 

Too  late  now.  Lester  she  had  lost;  and  with  a 
gasping  sob,  she  threw  her  arms  across  the  porch 
rail  and  bent  her  head  on  them. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  came  the  tears. 

She  did  not  see  that  the  door  had  opened.  She 
did  not  hear,  either,  the  quick,  startled  exclamation 
the  man  at  the  door  gave  as  he  saw  her.  It  was 
Ashe — he  had  come  to  find  her ;  and  with  all  the  pity 
and  the  compassion  in  the  world  the  old  man  laid  a 
hand  on  her  head. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Ashe — "you  are  in  trouble." 

She  leaped  like  a  frightened  thing.  She  thought 
Hastings  had  returned. 

Then  she  saw  who  it  was. 

For  an  instant  she  strove  to  recover  herself — to 
hide  from  his  shrewd,  kindly  eyes  the  emotion  that 
shook  her  wildly.  But  the  time  had  passed  now 
when  she  could  brazen  out  the  part  she  tried  to  play. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Ashe!  ...  Mr.  Ashe!"  she  wailed. 

Ashe  did  the  one  thing  that  was  to  be  done.  He 
was  a  man  not  often  given  to  impulse,  but  now  he 

261 


The  Trap 

put  an  arm  about  her  and  drew  down  her  head  on 
his  shoulder. 

"There!  .  .  .  cry  it  out  now,  my  child,"  said 
Ashe ;  "in  a  moment  you  can  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Not  many  minutes  later,  between  her  sobs  and  the 
catches  in  her  voice,  Sally  found  herself  telling  the 
old  man  everything. 

It  was  not  much.  It  was  only  that  same  pitiful 
little  record  of  want  and  misery — bitterness,  too — 
that  had  led  her  to  temptation.  And  that  much 
Ashe  already  knew.  To  this,  however,  Sally  added 
something  else.  It  was  the  encounter,  that  evening, 
with  Mrs.  Steese.  Though  she  had  broken  free 
from  Mrs.  Steese,  she  had  not  the  courage  to  face 
her  again. 

Old  Ashe,  her  hand  in  his,  listened  gravely,  as 
one  listens  to  a  child. 

"My  dear  girl,  don't  let  her  worry  you.  You  are 
with  friends  now.  I  wouldn't  bother  about  Mrs. 
Steese." 

Sally  shook  anew. 

"I  am  as  guilty  as  she.  Mrs.  Steese  is  no  more 
to  blame  than  I." 

"Well,  you  can  forget  her  now,"  said  Ashe. 

He  patted  her  hand.  It  was  like  ice.  He  gave 
262 


The  Trap 

it  a  reassuring  squeeze.  "That  fact  is,"  he  added, 
"I've  just  talked  with  Mrs.  Steese.  I  was  quite 
blunt  I  told  her  just  what  Lester  knew." 

Sally  gave  a  strangled  cry. 

"Lester!" 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

"You  mean  he  knows  it  all?" 

Ashe  saw  no  reason  to  hide  from  her  that  Lester 
had  known  it  for  weeks.  He  was  not  prepared,  how- 
ever, for  the  effect  the  revelation  would  have  on  her. 
True,  she  had  suspected  the  truth — had  almost  been 
sure  of  it;  but  now  that  she  knew  to  a  certainty  the 
horror  she  felt  of  it  she  showed  instantly. 

"What  shall  I  do?    What  shall  I  do?"  she  cried. 

Ashe  sought  to  comfort  her.  No  one  could  com- 
fort Sally  now.  She  clasped  her  hands  to  her  face. 

"I  didn't  want  him  to  know.  I  hoped  I  was  mis- 
taken— that  he  didn't  know — never  would.  I  meant 
to  go  away — run  off.  I  was  only  waiting  till  'I 
could  go  upstairs  and  get  my  things.  I  meant  to  run 
away  to-night.  .  .  .  And  now  he  knows,  he  knows !" 
she  cried. 

That,  in  fact,  had  been  her  plan.  It  was  not  the 
same  plan  she'd  had  when  she  faced  Mrs.  Steese 
upstairs.  Mrs.  Steese's  defiance,  however,  had  up- 

263 


The  Trap 

set  Sally's  calculations.  Sally  had  meant  Mrs. 
Steese  to  leave  the  day  following;  as  Mrs.  Steese, 
however,  had  said  she  wouldn't,  Sally's  decision  was 
formed.  She  meant  to  run  off,  leaving  Mrs.  Steese 
behind. 

Ashe  rose  abruptly. 

"Come,"  said  he.  Sally  stared  at  him  dully,  and 
Ashe  repeated  the  command.  "Lester  is  waiting," 
he  said. 

"Lester?"  she  repeated. 

"He's  in  the  library — he's  waiting  to  see  you," 
Ashe  replied. 

Sally  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't  see  him — I  must  never  see  him  again," 
she  said  wearily;  and  Ashe  laid  a  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

"You've  got  to  see  him — he  has  something  to  say 
to  you,"  said  Ashe.  His  lips  pressed  themselves  to- 
gether. "It's  pretty  rough,  my  dear,  but  you'll  have 
to  hear  him." 

She  was  thinking  swiftly. 

"Very  well,"  she  said-^"give  me  a  moment,  time 
enough  to  go  to  my  room." 


CHAPTER  XXV 


r  ;-  iHE  sitting-room  was  empty.  Mrs.  Steese 
was  gone,  Mrs.  Dewitt  had  left,  too. 

J-  Hastings  also  was  not  at  the  moment 
visible.  As  the  clock  struck  half-past  ten,  the  door 
of  the  library  opened,  and  Mr.  Ashe  emerged.  En- 
tering the  sitting-room,  Mr.  Ashe  crossed  the  floor, 
and  going  to  a  bell  button  set  in  the  wall,  he  rang 
it.  Then,  drawing  out  a  cigar-case  from  his  pocket, 
Mr.  Ashe  helped  himself  to  his  second  cigar  that 
evening.  One  was  his  usual  allowance  after  dinner, 
but  now  the  lean,  grizzled  old  boy  seemed  in  need  of 
extra  solace.  His  air  disgusted,  he  clipped  the  end 
from  the  cigar. 

He  had  just  lighted  it,  when  Butes  appeared  at 
the  door. 

"Order  my  car,  please,"  Ashe  directed;  "I'm 
leaving  presently." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Butes,  and  he  withdrew. 

As  he  went  out  at  one  door,  Ashe  went  out  at 
another.  A  moment  later,  the  old  gentleman's  figure 

265 


The  Trap 

might  have  been  discerned  in  the  starlight  making  a 
tour  of  the  graveled  driveway  that  encircled  the 
house.  Halfway  round,  he  halted,  planting  himself 
where  he  could  command  a  view  of  a  window  on 
the  second  story.  The  window  was  Mr.  Hastings' 
window ;  and  Ashe  inspected  it  critically.  Presently, 
a  shadow  projected  itself  on  the  background  of  the 
drawn  shade. 

The  shadow  was  slim  and  youthful — a  man's 
shadow.  It  appeared  also  to  be  imbued  with  ac- 
tivity. To  and  fro  it  flitted;  and  with  a  grunt,  Mr. 
Ashe  moved  along  the  drive.  A  few  yards  along 
he  paused  again,  his  glance  still  directed  upward, 
and  this  time  also  fastened  on  a  window.  The  win- 
dow was  Mrs.  Steese's;  and  presently  that  lady's 
shadow,  too,  was  thrown  on  the  shade.  Like  the 
other  shadow,  it  also  was  animated. 

The  fact  is,  however,  all  that  was  happening  at 
Ferncliffe  was  not  taking  place  in  the  library  only. 

To  begin,  take  Mrs.  Steese. 

After  the  dinner,  charmed  by  her  new  friend's 
graciousness,  Mrs.  Steese  had  applied  herself  to  Mrs. 
Dewitt.  Between  them  they  planned  what  they'd  do 
on  the  morrow.  Mrs.  Steese,  true,  did  most  of  the 
planning,  this  including  the  use  of  Hastings'  yacht, 

266 


The  Trap 

though  Hastings  as  yet  hadn't  learned  it.  However, 
having  gone  this  far  Mrs.  Steese  was  also  arranging 
where  they'd  go,  how  long  they'd  stay  and  what 
provisions  she'd  order  Butes  to  send  aboard,  when 
Mr.  Ashe  appeared  at  the  door.  "Oh,  there  you 
are!"  bugled  Mrs.  Steese;  and  she  was  about  to 
invite  Ashe  gayly  to  join  them  on  the  trip,  when  she 
noted  the  expression  on  his  face.  His  mouth  set, 
Ashe  beckoned  to  her. 

Out  in  the  hall,  Mrs.  Steese  gazed  at  him  uncom- 
fortably. Ashe  had  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"The  game's  up,  Mrs.  Steese,"  he  said  quietly. 

Mrs.  Steese  gave  a  start. 

"What's  that?" 

"Just  what  I  say,"  Ashe  answered — "the  game  is 
up!" 

Mrs.  Steese  for  an  instant  made  an  attempt  to 
bluster.  "What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  she  demanded, 
drawing  herself  up;  and  Ashe  smiled. 

"Lester  knows  everything,"  he  replied. 

Then,  as  Mrs.  Steese  appeared  to  have  nothing 
to  say,  Ashe  walked  through  the  doorway  to  the 
porch.  Mrs.  Steese,  her  mouth  open,  gazed  after 
him. 

A  gasp,  a  sudden  wheeze,  escaped  her. 
267 


The  Trap 

She  did  not  return  to  the  sitting-room — to  Mrs. 
Dewitt  and  their  plans  together  for  the  morrow. 
Instead,  still  agape,  her  eyes  roving,  Mrs.  Steese 
turned  and  climbed  the  stairs.  Halfway  up  she 
began  to  hurry.  At  the  top  she  was  almost  running. 

In  the  library  sat  Lester. 

The  fire  in  the  grate  was  burning  low.  The  coals, 
clinking  as  they  settled  on  the  bars,  were  turning 
gray,  but  in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace  a  little  flame, 
the  last,  leaped  fitfully  as  a  ray  of  hope  is  said  to 
leap  within  a  human  heart. 

Lester  was  staring  at  it.  As  he  stared  at  it  Sally 
was  staring  at  him. 

Lester  spoke  presently. 

"It  was  because  I  loved  you,"  he  said  slowly. — 
"You  may  not  believe  me,  but  it  was  so." 

Sally  did  not  for  a  moment  speak. 

"I  love  you  yet,"  said  Lester  quietly — "more  than 
ever  now." 

The  last  vestige  of  color  had  fled  from  her  face. 
She  stood  rigid,  her  hands  by  her  side,  the  bloom 
of  her  youth  and  beauty  blurred  and  blemished  by 
the  lines  that  had  crept  in  about  her  mouth  and  eyes. 
Somehow  years  seemed  to  have  crept  on  her  in  a 

268 


The  Trap 

few  hours'  time;  the  girl,  so  short  a  time  before  a 
mere  child  in  years,  was  now  a  woman — an  aged, 
weary  woman,  too,  she  felt. 

He  had  told  her  everything.  As  with  Ashe,  too, 
in  telling  it  he  had  not  spared  himself.  Nothing  was 
omitted,  but  her  silence  had  made  it  far  more  difficult 
than  even  he  had  dreamed. 

Now  he  no  longer  dared  to  look  at  her. 

"That  night — the  one  in  New  York — I  was  be- 
side myself.  I  knew  how  I  wanted  you — I  tried  to 
take  you  in  my  arms.  You  shrank  from  me,  as  if 
I  were  a  leper;  I  felt  that  no  woman  would  have 
me  for  myself — only  for  my  money,  the  fortune 
that's  been  my  curse.  I  lost  my  head  then.  I  was 
in  a  rage — half  mad,  I  think.  I  sent  out  into  the 
park,  and  got  that  man,  that  fellow  Hastings.  He 
was  a  tramp — an  outcast  sleeping  on  the  benches 
there.  It  was  to  punish  you,  I  thought;  and  I — 
I've  only  punished  myself.  I  planned  to  let  him 
marry  you." 

"You  did  ...  that?"  said  Sally. 

"I  was  mad — beside  myself,"  repeated  Lester;  "I 
loved  you  as  I'd  never  loved  any  one.  I  was  afraid 
you  wanted  me  only  for  my  money.  I  felt  when 
you  shrank  from  me  that  you  were  like  all  the 

269 


The  Trap 

women  I  had  known.  I  thought  so,  though  I  loved 
you." 

"You  loved  me;  yet  you  did  .  .  .  that?"  she 
said  again. 

It  was  so.  He  did  not  try  to  deny  it — to  save  him- 
self from  what  he'd  done.  "Oh,  Sally,  Sally!"  said 
Lester ;  and  turning  suddenly,  he  threw  out  both  his 
hands  toward  her  in  a  convulsive  gesture  of  appeal. 

Her  face  was  stony. 

"No,"  she  said,  and  shook  her  head  deliberately, 
"it's  too  late  for  that.  I  was  like  those  women — 
the  women  you  have  known;  I  did  try  to  get  you, 
but  it  wasn't  always  and  only  for  your  money. 
I'll  tell  you  that  now." 

Lester's  eyes  leaped.  The  light  in  them  was  like 
the  light  leaping  among  the  dead  gray  ashes  in  the 
corner  of  the  grate. 

"Sally,  you  don't  mean ?"  He  checked  him- 
self. It  was  as  if  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  be- 
lieve it. 

Sally  was  gazing  at  him,  her  face  still  haggard, 
set. 

"Well,  that's  ended  it,"  she  said.  Her  mouth 
quivered,  and  her  hands  still  clenched  at  her  sides, 
she  threw  back  her  head.  "Would  it  make  you  any 

270 


The  Trap 

happier  to  know  I've  been  punished  ?  I  have.  Your 
plan  failed,  but  that  has  made  no  difference — I've 
been  punished,  punished  bitterly.  You  loved  me,  so 
you  say — well,  no  man  that  loved  a  woman  ever 
made  her  suffer  more.  It's  deserved,  too,  I'll  say." 
Her  nostrils  quivered,  too.  By  an  effort,  though, 
she  smiled. 

Lester's  shoulders  had  sagged  limply.  Never  had 
he  looked  so  big,  so  heavy — never  had  he  looked  so 
helpless,  either. 

"You  won't  forgive  me,  then?"  he  asked. 

Sally  was  still  smiling  at  him  curiously. 

"There's  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  said. 

His  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  her.  His  eyes  humbled 
themselves  in  appeal.  Steeling  herself,  she  stifled 
any  feeling  she  felt. 

"Good-by,"  she  said,  and  she  held  out  a  hand  to 
him. 

Lester  did  not  take  it. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  demanded. 

"Never  mind,"  she  replied. 

A  quick  suspicion  leaped  into  Lester's  mind.  He 
glanced  swiftly  at  her.  Then  the  suspicion  voiced 
itself. 

"That  fellow,  Hastings You  saw  him  to- 

271 


The  Trap 

night,  out  there  on  the  veranda.  What  did  he  say 
to  you?" 

She  smiled,  the  smile  like  her  face,  hard. 

"He  asked  me  to  marry  him,"  she  replied. 

"You  accepted  him !"  cried  Lester. 

For  a  moment  she  gazed  at  him  steadily. 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  inquired;  "he  had 
money ;  that  is,  I  thought  he  had." 

"Then  you  did  accept  him  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

The  question  she  did  not  answer. 

"Good-by,"  she  said. 

As  Lester  did  not  reply,  she  turned  and  went 
toward  the  door.  She  had  almost  reached  it  when 
Lester  blocked  her  way. 

"You  shan't  go !"  he  cried. 

"Open  that  door!"  Sally  said  sharply.  It  was 
the  second  time  that  night  she  had  spoken  to  him 
like  that.  His  hand  dropped  from  the  door  knob. 
Slowly  he  turned  away. 

She  went  then,  leaving  him  there. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WELL,"  observed  Ashe,     "that's  how  I 
thought  it  would  be!" 
He  had  on  his  hat  and  coat,  his  car 
was  waiting  at  the  door;  and  satisfied  he  could  do 
no  more,  Ashe  was  going  home.     However,  having 
expressed  his  opinion  in  this  banal  "I-told-you-so," 
he  seemed  to  realize  its  banality,  for  he  gave  a  ges- 
ture of  disgust.    "Well,  good  night,"  he  grunted. 

"Good  night,  and  thank  you,"  Lester  replied 
heavily. 

Ashe  had  opened  the  library  door  and  was  half- 
way out,  when  he  halted.  The  second  man  and  two 
men  from  the  stables  were  coming  down  the  stairs, 
bearing  with  them  two  trunks  and  several  handbags. 
Ashe  closed  the  door,  a  subdued  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Lester. 

"Exit  Madame  Steese,"  replied  Ashe. 

It  was  so.  Following  the  men  came  Mrs.  Steese 
wrapped  in  a  long  traveling  coat,  her  face  covered 
with  a  heavy  veil.  She  was  hurrying. 

273 


The  Trap 

Scrambling  to  his  feet  Lester  crossed  the  room, 
and  sped  out  through  the  sitting-room  door.  Ashe 
watched  him  go  in  surprise.  Not  more  than  a  min- 
ute later  he  returned,  his  face  curious. 

He  was  smiling  to  himself. 

"Well,  what  now?"  inquired  Ashe. 

"I  said  good-by  to  her,"  answered  Lester  quietly, 
— "I  couldn't  let  her  go  like  that." 

"Civil  of  you,  to  say  the  least,"  Ashe  remarked, 
his  tone  ironic. 

Lester  merely  smiled. 

Resuming  his  place  before  the  desk,  he  picked  up 
a  pencil  and  jotted  something  on  a  piece  of  paper. 
What  he  jotted  was  a  series  of  figures  preceded  by 
a  dollar  sign;  and  Ashe  being  near  enough  to  see 
this,  he  gaped. 

"Look  here!  you  don't  mean  you  gave  her 
money?"  he  gasped. 

Lester  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently. 

"What's  the  harm?  Money's  no  good  to  me. 
Besides  I'm  half  sorry  for  that  woman." 

"Well,  of  all  the  damned  fools !"  Ashe  remarked 
sententiously. 

Lester  did  not  even  trouble  to  reply. 

Ashe  watched  him  for  a  moment.  Lester  was 
274 


The  Trap 

fussing  over  the  papers  on  his  desk,  putting  them 
in  order;  and  Ashe  again  was  swept  with  pity  for 
the  man.  But  Lester  was  not  the  sort  who  asked 
or  in  any  way  invited  another's  sympathy ;  and  sigh- 
ing to  himself,  Ashe  wandered  to  the  door  once 
more.  "Good  night,  my  boy,"  he  murmured — 
"Fanny's  waiting  for  me;  I'll  have  to  go." 

Lester  looked  up  from  the  desk. 

"Oh,  she's  going  too,  is  she?"  he  growled. 

Yes,  Mrs.  Dewitt  was  going.  Having  divined 
what  was  taking  place — that  Mrs.  Steese  was  leav- 
ing, that  she  was,  in  fact,  flitting  hurriedly — Mrs. 
Dewitt  had  the  suspicion,  a  fear,  that  her  activities, 
too,  might  be  known.  If  they  were,  no  explanations 
would  satisfy  Lester,  she  knew. 

"You  say  good-by  to  her  for  me,"  said  Lester 
crisply — "say  it,  too,  so  there  won't  be  any  mistake 
about  it !" 

Ashe  sighed  anew. 

"I'm  disappointed  about  Fanny.  I'd  hoped  once 
you'd  forgive — forget — marry  her." 

A  low  growl  escaped  Lester. 

"There's  only  one  woman  I'd  marry." 

"Yes,"  said  Ashe,  "but  now  you've  lost  her, 
too!" 

275 


It  was  a  cruel  thing  to  say.  It  came,  perhaps,  un- 
guardedly. Ashe,  however,  hardly  was  prepared 
for  the  consequences  of  that  futile  speech.  Lester's 
face  grew  dark. 

"Lost  her?"  He  scrambled  heavily  to  his  feet. 
"Don't  you  say  that !  She  loved  me  once — she  told 
me  herself.  I'll  make  her  love  me  again!" 

Ashe  gave  an  exclamation. 

"Wait !    Where  are  you  going?" 

Lester  made  no  reply.  The  chair,  as  he'd  risen, 
had  toppled  backwards,  clattering  on  the  floor.  Out 
in  the  hall  a  moment  later  Butes  was  astonished  to 
see  his  master  dart  at  a  run  toward  the  stairs.  But 
at  the  sight  of  the  butler  Lester  halted. 

"Where's  Miss  Raeburn?"  he  demanded. 

"Miss  Raeburn,  sir?"  Butes  looked  confused. 
"Beggin*  pardon,  Mr.  'Arry,  Miss  Raeburn's  gone." 

"Gone?"  Lester  stared  at  him,  the  color  going 
swiftly  from  his  face. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Butes — "Miss  Raeburn  went  some 
minutes  ago." 

Lester  was  quivering  now.  A  new  thought,  a  cer- 
tainty, seemed  for  the  moment  to  convulse  him. 

"That  man — Hastings — where  is  he  ?" 

Before  this  Butes  had  grasped  the  fact  that  some- 
i  276 


The  Trap 

thing  queer  was  taking  place — the  hurried  departure 
of  the  houseful  of  guests  would  have  been  enough 
to  bewilder  any  servant;  and  now,  in  the  effort  to 
hide  his  suspicions,  he  grew  embarrassed,  faltering. 

Lester  gripped  him  by  the  arm. 

"Speak,  damn  it !    Did  he  go  with  her?" 

"Why,  sir — in  a  manner  of  speaking,  sir — 

why "  Butes  was  stammering,  when  Lester  gave 

a  fierce,  threatening  gesture. 

"Answer  me !"  he  commanded. 

Then  Butes  got  his  wits  together. 

"I  couldn't  say,  sir.  All  I  know  is  that  the  young 
lady  went  first.  The  Hastings  person  he  left  a 
moment  or  so  ago." 

"Well,"  said  Ashe — it  was  a  moment  or  so  later 
— "I  never  could  have  believed  it!  Dear,  dear!"  he 
exclaimed — "to  think  after  what  she  said  to  me  she 
should  run  off  with  that  waster!" 

Lester  made  no  reply.  Hatless,  he  darted  out  by 
the  door  into  the  starlit  night.  Ashe  heard  his  foot- 
steps speed  along  the  graveled  drive.  Restraining 
an  impulse  to  follow,  Ashe  turned  away.  Then  for 
the  first  time  he  was  aware  that  Mawsby  stood  by 
the  stairs. 

277 


The  Trap 

The  valet's  face  was  as  fixed  and  imperturbable  as 
ever,  but  as  Ashe  glanced  at  him  sharply  the  corner 
of  the  valet's  mouth  twitched  momentarily.  But  the 
smile,  if  it  was  that,  went  instantly. 

"Begging  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "but  I  don't 
think  the  young  lady  went  with  that  person." 

Ashe  stared. 

"Why,  no,  sir,"  said  Mawsby ;  "I  was  in  the  ver- 
anda this  evening  when  the  fellow  asked  her  to  go 
with  him — to  marry  him,  he  said.  He  let  on  he  had 
money — great  wealth,  sir;  but  though  she  believed 
him,  she  scorned  the  fellow.  Begging  pardon  for 
speaking  so  freely,  sir,  but  it  was  as  good  as  a  play, 
sir.  She  turned  him  down  flat,  sir — flat  as  a  pan- 
cake, if  I  say  so !" 

He  was  still  speaking,  when  from  the  stables 
came  the  clattering  roar  of  a  high-powered  motor. 

"There  goes  the  master  now,  sir,"  said  Mawsby — 
"he'll  catch  the  young  lady,  never  fear!" 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  said  Ashe. 

"Yes,  sir.    Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mawsby. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IT  was  so.  Though  Sally  had  believed,  indeed, 
at  the  time  that  Hastings  had  money,  real 
wealth,  she  had  refused  him — refused  him  with 
scorn,  what  is  more. 

Now,  however,  she  had  left  all  that  behind  her. 

The  road  lay  over  the  hilltop,  and  dipping  swiftly 
from  the  crest  it  wound  down  among  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  trees  as  it  led  toward  the  river  high- 
way. A  clock  boomed;  it  was  midnight  now;  and 
as  the  measured  strokes  sounded  in  the  quiet  of  the 
moonlit  night,  Sally's  hurried  gait  altered  itself  to  a 
slower,  less  fatiguing  pace. 

Wearied  already  she  paused  at  the  crest  of  a  little 
rise  and  looked  back  along  the  way.  Below  her  the 
river  rippled,  its  dark  velvety  surface  shot  with 
splashes  of  moonlight  that  played  upon  its  surface. 
Her  eye  followed  it  half  consciously  into  the  dis- 
tance. There  lay  Ferncliffe.  She  almost  fancied 
that  a  faraway  light  twinkling  like  a  starpoint 
among  the  hills  was  the  house  she  had  left — the  life 

279 


The  Trap 

she  had  left  behind.  She  stared  at  it  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  picked  up  the  little  bag  she  had  set  down 
beside  her  and  started  on  again. 

The  bag  held  all  she  possessed  in  the  world.  She 
had  neither  money  nor  clothes,  just  the  few  little 
things  Mrs.  Steese  had  left.  Everything  else  Mrs. 
Steese  had  packed  and  taken  with  her.  But  Sally 
was  rather  glad  of  that.  The  clothes,  the  other 
things  Mrs.  Steese  had  bought  for  her,  would  have 
been  a  reminder,  a  relic,  she  could  not  have  endured 
to  have  about  her.  Besides,  in  her  new  life,  she 
would  not  need  clothes  like  that.  Work  was  what 
she  must  hunt.  Women  that  worked  did  not  wear 
such  dresses. 

Work!  Well,  that  didn't  worry  her.  She  could 
work  with  her  heart  and  soul  in  it.  It  was  the  one 
thing  that  might  make  her  forget. 

Far  up  the  river  the  hills  awoke  with  a  sudden 
clamorous  burst  of  sound.  It  was  a  nightboat, 
southbound  to  the  city,  blowing  for  a  village  wharf. 
Far  away  she  heard  all  at  once  a  motor  throbbing 
along  the  road.  Afterward  the  night  settled  down 
about  her,  stilled  and  more  silent  than  before.  The 
dawn  would  not  come  for  hours  yet,  but  she  was  not 
thinking  of  the  dawn.  She  hardly  thought,  either, 

280 


The  Trap 

of  the  dragging  fatigue  that  crept  slowly  upon  her. 
What  she  thought  of  was  Lester. 

Lester  .  .  .   ! 

She  sobbed  again.  She  wondered  if  ever  she 
could  think  of  him  without  the  shame  and  misery 
she  felt  now.  The  remembrance  of  how  his  face 
had  twitched  with  pain  when  she  had  rebuffed  him 
came  into  her  mind  again.  He  had  loved  her,  too. 
He  had  said  so,  yet  to  punish  herself  she  had  steeled 
herself  to  hurt  him  still  again.  .  .  .  Well,  no  matter 
now.  Nothing  mattered,  it  seemed. 

The  slope  before  her  was  long  and  steep.  Every 
little  way  she  stopped,  waiting  till  she  got  her 
strength  again.  Then,  finally,  she  reached  the  top; 
and  stopping,  she  waited  for  a  moment,  looking  back 
toward  Ferncliffe. 

She  had  loved  Lester — she  knew  that  now.  She 
had  loved  him  all  the  time. 

Now  she  had  lost  him ! 

"Lost  him!"  she  repeated  to  herself — "lost  him  I'1 

As  she  walked  on  she  again  heard  the  motor  she 
had  heard  before. 

The  car  was  already  racing  up  the  grade.  It  came 
roaring,  its  muffler  off,  the  exhaust  thundering  in  a 
steady  roll  as  the  machine  soared  upward  on  the 

281 


The  Trap 

slope.  Ahead  of  it,  the  glare  of  its  headlight  peopled 
the  wood  beside  her  with  a  myriad  of  leaping 
shadows;  and  as  the  light  bathed  the  road  beside 
her  she  stepped  to  one  side,  meaning  to  let  it  pass. 

Then  she  heard  a  cry. 

The  next  instant  with  a  screech  of  its  brakes  and 
a  sudden  grinding  of  the  gravel  beneath  its  tires, 
the  motor  slid  to  a  standstill  beside  her. 

Sally  gave  one  look  at  the  man  who  leaped  from 
the  car;  then  she  swayed.  She  did  not  fall.  She 
stood  there  limp,  numb,  bewildered — staring  like 
one  in  a  dream. 

"Sally!"  cried  Lester. 

She  did  not  evade  him  now.  She  took  one  step  to- 
ward him,  tottering.  The  next  instant  his  arms 
were  about  her;  and  giving  in,  she  laid  her  head  on 
his  shoulder,  weeping — weeping  as  if  it  would  tear 
her  frame  apart. 

"There,  there!"  said  Lester— "it's  all  right! 
Everything's  all  right !" 

But  she  wasn't  sure  of  it.  Not  even  yet  was  she 
sure. 

"I  didn't  hate  you — I  never  have !"  she  cried.  "I 
loved  you  when  you  thought  I  was  trying  to  make 
you  marry  me.  And  I  didn't  care  for  that  man — I 

282 


The  Trap 

never  did !  .  .  .  Oh,  I've  been  punished,  punished !" 

"Hush!"  said  Lester. 

He  held  her  close,  her  shaking  figure  engulfed  in 
the  depths  of  his  arms,  her  face  pressed  tight  against 
his  shoulder.  The  night  and  the  bright  stars  shining 
overhead  were  their  only  company;  and  putting  up 
his  hand  he  pressed  back  her  head  till  her  face  was 
turned  up  to  his. 

"Then  you  do  love  me?"  he  said. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  the  light  he  saw  in  her 
face  seemed  to  satisfy  Lester.  His  face  was  shining 
as  he  held  her  close  to  him. 

"My  little  girl  1"  he  whispered. 

(i) 

THE  END 


—  **'"  If/I/    I  I    II  I 


